Pearl of OZ
by M. Elaine Whittington
Summary: A grown-up continuation of the story of Dorothy Gale and her comrades in the land of OZ, Pearl of OZ is a story for those who long for more of the magical land that bewitched them as children. Bloodshed, heartache, revenge, adventure, and romance await!


Whittington/Pearl of OZ/312

M. Elaine Whittington

Pearl of OZ

Chapter one

In the frigid, mountainous land of Ev, masses of filthy vagrants littered the fringes of the city of Evna. The assemblage, consisting only of men, young children, and the elderly had been forcefully separated from its wives and daughters and driven out from the city walls. The heads of the men who fought for the retrieval of their loved ones stood skewered on frosty spears lining the city gates, a warning to all who may consider any foolish acts of bravery. Expelled from their homes, the castaways created makeshift tents outside the city walls, and many of the most ancient Evians in the group had frozen to death during the endless, bitter nights. The first days of the expulsion were the most terrible; elderly couples watched helplessly as their daughters and granddaughters were dragged away by royal guards. Shattering screams permeated the icy Evian air as tiny children witnessed the decapitation of their fathers at the hands of massive, masked men. Blood soaked through banks of snow alongside city roads, and hundreds of homes were set ablaze, crumbling into heaps of ash. Infants were torn from the bosoms of their mothers and thrown to the ground to die, trampled underfoot by crowds of guards and their horses. Grown men sobbed as they were pushed back at spear-point, watching as their screaming brides were bound and dragged into the royal palace. After a while, the billows of smoke from the charred homes finally died out, but the corpses remained, beautifully crusted with sparkling frost. All throughout Evna, the only stirring of life came from orphaned housecats lurking through the rubble in search of a morsel, and the few royal guards who were constantly on patrol. The once beautiful city now lay ragged, burned, destroyed.

The people of Ev clustered around small bon fires, their skin stained by soot and blood, some their own, some of soldiers, some of their loved ones. Food was scarce, as only a few of the men were able to smuggle hunting weapons out of the city walls. Every ounce of energy for grieving had been spent, and there remained nothing but shells of people, their emotions hollow, their expressions vacant. A harsh wind raked across their faces, nearly blowing out the fires which barely kept them alive.

"Uncle Thomas…Uncle Thomas…" a tiny boy tugged at his father's brother. Turning from the fire, the man looked down at the little child with the dirty face and hungry eyes.

"What is it, my boy?"

"Where are my mum and dad, Uncle Thomas?"

Frederick and Anya. A wave of grief washed over the man; he clenched his teeth, holding back the tears. Everard, the deranged illegitimate son of the king, appeared last week after ten years of being imprisoned, taking over the kingdom by use of a dark magic none could withstand. The minds of more than half of the royal army had been taken over by his hex. Possessed by a spirit not their own, they remained steadfastly at Everard's side, slaughtering their closest friends and family without question and assisting him in the kidnapping of every woman in Ev. The remaining soldiers had a choice: submit or die. When the calamity began, Frederick entrusted his son to Thomas, begging him to protect the boy. Anya was one of hundreds of women taken prisoner in the palace; Frederick faked loyalty to Everard, intending to obtain a way into the palace to rescue his wife. He never made it out.

Lowering himself to his nephew's gaze, Thomas placed his hands on the boy's tiny shoulders and looked into his eyes, seeing an image of the brother he had so recently lost.

"…Do you see the three suns, just there?" He pointed to the sky.

The boy looked beyond the surrounding mountains and squinted into the heavens, striving to see the three balls of light through the heavy mist.

"Yes."

"Well, you see...I know a secret about them. When you were born, your mum and dad put them in the sky just for you, as a promise. Do you know what they mean?"

The boy, wide-eyed with wonder, shook his head.

"That sun's your mum…that other one's your dad. And the brightest one? That's you." he stated with a smile. The little child beamed back and looked again at the suns. Thomas continued. "As long as those suns burn in the heavens, your mum and dad are with you, even if you can't see them here in the world."

The boy paused for a moment, meditating on the magic his uncle had just revealed to him. "I want to go home. I'm cold." he whimpered. "Why did the king make us leave?"

Thomas looked sternly at his nephew. "That man is _not _our king."

"I want to go home…" he repeated. By now he was sitting on his uncle's knee, pressing his little face into his chest. Thomas held the boy close to keep him warm and said nothing, staring blankly into the fire once more. Everything had been lost…families were ripped apart, hundreds had died, and hundreds more now suffered in the clutches of the bastard son of the King of Ev. Though beautiful, the winters of Ev were incredibly harsh. Shelter was hard to come by, and the tropical neighboring land of Ix was a five day hike away; without proper clothing and shelter, the pilgrimage was impossible to survive. Thomas looked around him at the masses, trying not to think of how most of them would more than likely be dead within days.

Moments later, a bearded man clothed in muddy rags came limping through the mist, hurrying toward the crowds as fast as his frost-bitten leg would allow. Tears streamed down his weather beaten face.

"The queen! The queen! It's her! I've seen her on the mountains! People! She's alive! She's coming this way!"

A great stirring vibrated through the multitude as people stood, their hearts trembling as one in anticipation. Could it be true? They waited, gaping absorbedly at the mountains in search of their lost ruler. Six weeks ago, the kingdom awoke to bloodshed. Dozens of servants in the palace had been murdered, along with the Queen and all ten of the Princes and Princesses of Ev. The royals, however, were the only ones whose bodies had disappeared. Only their blood remained, drenching and sticky in the sheets of their beds. The king flaunted an air of mourning, offering lavish rewards to whoever could recover the bodies of his wife and children. Thomas, like many of the king's subjects, doubted his sincerity. King Evoldo was known to be a cruel man, and in many of his nights of drunken revelry, had confessed to those close to him that he despised his family, even to the point of wishing them dead. He was particularly spiteful to his eldest son, ten year old Evardo, who would take the throne after him.

At the risk of being imprisoned for treason, Thomas and Frederick launched a secret investigation against Evoldo, knowing in their hearts he must be behind the murders. Their work quickly staggered to a halt, however, when the king's body was discovered split open on the icy surface of Evna River; he had jumped off of the cliffs above, killing himself.

The humming of the crowd grew still; wind suffocated their silence, growling and whistling as each Evian anxiously scanned the outer reaches of the mist for any sign of the queen. Seconds dragged on into minutes, each one further dissolving their optimism. After what felt like ages, people began to disperse, shattered by false hope. Their voices picked up as they trudged back to their weak fires, once again waiting for the cold and famine to take them out of the hell their existence had become.

"Wait!" Thomas shouted over the storm. He strained his eyes. A tiny, moving figure emerged along the mountainside, blurred by flurries of powdery snow. His heart faltered. "It's her!" His eyes glossing over, he yelled out again. "It's the queen!"

The people looked again, giving optimism one last chance. Cries broke out from within the host as they too witnessed their saving grace gliding through the clouds. A sleigh broke out of the mist; Queen Evelyn of Ev stood at its head, her long blonde hair swirling behind her in the coils of frosty wind. Three pale horses galloped down the mountainside, drawing her toward the boundaries of Evna.

Evelyn's eyes inflated. She parted her lips to speak, but vapor was all that escaped her mouth. Hundreds of soiled, freezing vagabonds materialized out of the fog, clamoring toward her through the dense snow. She wrenched at the reins, nearly colliding into them before the horses restrained to a stop. Her face twisted in bewilderment at the horror before her. Filthy, frost-bitten hands reached into the sleigh, grasping at her in desperation. She looked into their faces; these were her own people. High-born elders and nobility mixed with servants and tradespeople, all shouting and weeping, all starving and dying. She recognized the brother of Frederick from inside the perimeter of the horde.

"Thomas!"

He stepped forward, holding a small child in his arms.

She stammered, blood coursing in a pounding frenzy through her ears. "What's happened!?"

"It's Everard; he's back! Hundreds of people are dead! He's taken all of the women into the palace!"

She could scarcely hear him through the furious wind. Praying she misheard, she shouted back.

"Who!?"

"Everard!"

Her heart dropped. The boy. She remembered him well; the day of the celebration of the birth her first child, he'd stormed into the throne room in a fit of rage, demanding to be recognized as the first born of the king. Even ten years later she still had nightmares of the trembling, bloodshot eyes that bore into her that afternoon, leaking the madness within him.

Everard truly was the first born of the king, though no one knew it, and if they did, they didn't acknowledge it. His mother was a young, unwed lady of the court with whom Evoldo had an affair before his marriage to Evelyn. She died in childbirth, making him an orphan. He was raised in the palace as a servant and was nearly a mirror image of Evoldo, both in his appearance and dark disposition.

He was only a boy on the day of his psychotic rampage in the throne room, probably about fifteen, yet Evoldo, being thoroughly humiliated by the spectacle, had no mercy. He ordered Everard to be lashed and thrown into prison for his impudence. Everard remained there for ten years; when he was released, he disappeared. Evelyn assumed, as did others, that he had abandoned his pursuit of acknowledgement and fled the country. Nausea looped through her as she absorbed the result of his ambitious return. How could one man have possibly orchestrated this kind of destruction? A second sled pulled up behind her; huddled inside were all ten of her children. Her oldest, Evardo, guided it. She turned back to Thomas.

"Watch over my children; I'm going in!"

"You can't!" Thomas blurted out. "Everard has men on watch constantly; they'll kill you on sight!"

She looked behind him, surveying the crowd once more. Children and old women, looking half dead, burned through her with frantic eyes. Men whose faces had been sanded raw by the bitter wind stared at the ground, ashamed; not one of them had been able to protect his loved ones. She breathed out, looking back at her babes in the sleigh. They sat quietly, nestled under mounds of fur. She hadn't yet shared with them the news that their father had killed himself. They, along with all of the people of Ev, were now solely hers to protect. If she chose to do nothing, they would all perish. She looked behind her children, searching for the third sleigh. It approached in the distance, pummeling through the snow and wafts of fog.

"I'll be fine!" She yelled through the wind. "We'll come back for you!" She snapped the reins of the horses, jerking the sled in one slick motion toward the city gates.

"We?..." Thomas questioned under his breath as he watched the queen disappear toward the city gates.

"Uncle Thomas! Look!" His nephew pulled at his coat sleeve. Thomas walked toward the sleigh containing the princes and princesses, paying no attention to the boy.

"Uncle Thomas!" Tiny hands continually tugged at him. He looked up briefly to humor the boy, then back down at the royal children. A half second after registering what he'd just seen, his gaze jolted up again. A third sleigh passed leisurely by, housing the most unusual collection of beings he had ever seen.

A man stood at the reins…or was it a man? His skin was strange, almost cloth-like, and his hair was golden and brittle, like straw. The being briefly turned his head, saying something to a gentleman next to him whose entire body was made of shining tin. Next to the tin man was another metal creature, only, unlike the tin man, he looked nothing at all like a human. His body was round and portly; he blinked glowing green eyes.

In the back of the sleigh were two little girls. One looked to be about eleven or twelve, the other probably seven. They both had dark hair and soft, porcelain skin. A massive, roaring lion was wedged between them. The younger of the girls scratched at its mane, talking lovingly to it and stroking its snout. The older girl, though thin, was truly beautiful. A strange kind of radiance emanated from her person; her eyes were like drops of amber. A golden symbol graced her forehead: a large "O", and within it, a large "Z".

"That's the Queen of OZ!" A man's voice shot out from the crowd as he pointed to her. The people stared. As the sled whisked past them, Thomas's nephew grinned and waved feverishly. The younger girl, noticing, smiled gently and waved back.

A mile from the makeshift campsite, Evelyn reached the gates of Evna. Something caught her gaze. She slowed the horses to a stop and stumbled from the sled, staring at the top of the gates. She tromped through the snow, still staring upward; her expression coiled. The wind shot silent ripples through her coat as she covered her mouth.

There atop the gates, dozens of severed heads stuck frozen upon three giant, ice covered spears. She dropped into the snow, her heart tripping wildly in her chest. She had always feared what Everard may be capable of should he ever have the opportunity, but this? The devastation was too overwhelming to grasp. Her gaze remained locked on the heads. She was only one woman; how could she ever defeat him? The entirety of the past day was as a continuous and terrifying dream…

#

Though she was told it had been over a month since she and her children went missing, it seemed to Evelyn as only a day. She went to sleep at night, and when she awoke, Dorothy Gale and Ozma Pastoria, the Queen of OZ, stood before her. She and her children were in a bizarre underground cavern which the girls told her was the palace of the Nome King, who ruled over the neighboring mountains of Ev. She remembered seeing the lion, the two metal men, and the strange cloth-covered gentleman for the first time, trying to discern which frightened her most: her sudden change of location, or the creatures that stood before her, trying to explain what had happened. The cloth man, introducing himself as Scarecrow, pulled her aside, divulging the horrifying details of her circumstances.

"Ornaments?" Her forehead wrinkled.

"Apparently the Nome King has an affinity for them. Your husband…" He wasn't sure how to put it tactfully. "…essentially traded you and your children to him in exchange for a longer life. The Nome King turned you all into ornaments and has been keeping you on display."

Evoldo. She knew him to be a cruel man, and even that he never really loved her or their children, but to exchange them as currency for something, as if he owned them? She burned.

"I suppose he'll be in for a quite a surprise when we return."

"About that…" Scarecrow despised being the bearer of the news, but though Ozma was his queen, she was still a child and not capable of handling the conversation. As her advisor, the buck passed to him. "Your Majesty…he's dead."

"What!?"

"It's why we came here…we received word of what he'd done to you and your children, and that he'd later jumped off of a cliff, killing himself. I'm so sorry."

Her eyes swelled with tears, not for the vindictive husband who had betrayed her, but for herself, for her children. She exhaled. "Don't be; he was a terrible person." She wiped at her eyes. "Where is this Nome King now?"

"Cowering in his throne room; we brought some eggs along."

She squinted. "I beg your pardon?"

He remembered she would have no idea what he was talking about. He suddenly felt ridiculous; the words did sound strange. He attempted to explain.

"They're like poison to him. He's harmless now, anyway. The girls took his belt."

"What?"

Again, he realized how nonsensical he sounded. Turning his gaze to Ozma and Dorothy, he saw them playing with it, laughing and using it to magically send one another to different locations around the room. Deciding to let it do the explaining, he pointed to Ozma, who held it in her hands. Evelyn turned to look.

"It's a magic belt. Among other things, it can transfer a person to any location, in any world."

"Don't play with that!" Nick Chopper, the man of tin, raced over to the girls and snatched the belt away. "We don't know what this thing's capable of; it could be dangerous." The girls jutted out their lips in a playful pout, looking up at him with big doe eyes. His heart melted. "Oh, fine." He smiled, handing it back. Ozma transferred him to the other end of the room, sitting on top of the lion who growled and shook him off, sending him clanking onto the floor. The girls roared with laughter.

"…In any world?" Evelyn broke Scarecrow's half smile; he'd been watching the girls.

"Right; like the one Dorothy's from."

The entire time she'd been speaking with him, confusion never left her countenance. He breathed out.

"I'll explain it on the way."

As they hiked the long distance from the Nome King's mountain to the sleighs, Scarecrow enlightened Evelyn as to the history of the two girls. Dorothy Gale was from a world called Kansas; she had traveled to OZ, the land to the south of Ev, one time before this. That was when she'd met Scarecrow, Nick, and the lion, heading through the countryside toward the Emerald City to meet the then ruler, the Wizard. He said that the entire land of OZ revered her as a hero; during her first visit, she single handedly destroyed two wicked witches, one of which was a particularly large threat to the safety of the land. This time was her second visit.

"What about Ozma? I've heard of her…are the stories true?" Evelyn eyed the older girl.

"You mean all of that nonsense about her being turned into a boy and kept prisoner by a witch?" he asked.

Feeling sheepish, she nodded.

"It's true." He winked.

"Really!" She smiled at Ozma, amazed. "How did you recover her?"

Scarecrow hesitated. The subject was an embarrassing one for him. He was the ruler before Ozma, having been handed the throne by the Wizard who suddenly and without explanation decided to flee OZ. Only two months into Scarecrow's rule, he lost control of the kingdom when a rogue band of girls formed from all over OZ, turning in revolt against him. His army was small and feeble, and easily conquered by them. Hearing of their intentions to destroy the monarchy and end his existence, he fled the Emerald Palace, seeking out the help of Glinda the Good, a witch in Quadling Country.

Though the Wizard outwardly appeared to be a good leader, bestowing a torrent of cultural and technological advancement to the land of OZ, Glinda suspected him of foul play from the very beginning of his rule. The king before him, King Pastoria, had been assassinated; on that same night, his two daughters were taken away by a pair of servants who intended to protect them from the hired guns. Though the entire kingdom searched for months afterward, none of them had ever been recovered. Queen Pastoria died shortly after Ozma's birth, so when the king was murdered, OZ was left without a leader. Mistrustful of the Wizard who so eagerly took the throne, Glinda sent spies to continuously monitor and record his every move.

Through investigation of the records, Glinda and Scarecrow found a link to a witch named Mombi, and upon pursuit of her, discovered that she had been living with a young slave boy named Tip whose age was exactly that of Ozma's. Fearing for her life and wracked with guilt, Mombi confessed that the boy was indeed Ozma. She had found her in the woods as an infant many years ago, and suspecting that she may be one of the missing daughters of the king, took her to the palace. The Wizard admitted to Mombi that he had been behind the assassination of Pastoria and begged her to keep the girl in her possession so that he might continue his rule. Bribed by riches, she returned to the Black Forest where she lived, turning the tiny princess into a boy and keeping him with her as a slave. At the threat of death, Mombi returned Ozma to her true form and promised never again to use the dark magic that had changed her into a boy. On that very day, Scarecrow stepped down from the throne and eleven year old Ozma was restored as the rightful ruler of OZ.

He kept his explanation simple, leaving out the uncomfortable details of his disgraceful rule. "A good witch named Glinda worked with me to uncover her."

"Didn't she have a sister?" Evelyn asked as Scarecrow took her hand, helping her to tread down a particularly steep pile of ice layered rocks.

"She did; an older one. Her name was Pearl. Their mother had already died, and their father was assassinated. They were taken away by some servants who tried to protect them the night of his murder. We were fortunate enough to recover Ozma…but no one has ever been able to find Pearl. She's more than likely dead."

"How sad…" Evelyn looked at the orphaned queen who jumped onto the back of the tin man, laughing as he carried her down the mountainside toward the sleighs.

"She has us, and we're privileged to have her. She's an excellent queen."

"What about the other rumor? That she's a goddess?"

"A goddess?" He looked at her, confused. After a second, his eyes brightened. "You mean an Aura?"

"I have no idea what I mean; I've only heard stories. What is an Aura?"

"Well," he kicked at the rocks as they walked, trying to come up with as concise a definition as possible. "She essentially possesses the living Spirit of OZ. Auras are extremely rare; there've only been a couple dozen of them in the entire history of OZ. With an Aura around, we don't have to worry about anything; we're in essence totally protected from all harm and difficulty."

"That must be quite a good feeling; I can't imagine it."

"It is," he started. Being an immortal creature, Scarecrow had already been in existence for nearly a hundred years, and had seen OZ in both peaceful and terrifying states of reality. Ozma was the only Aura he'd ever encountered. "She only just self-actualized, though; she hasn't even chosen her symbol of power yet."

"Self-actualized?" Evelyn looked at him, puzzled.

"An Aura isn't a true Aura until he or she realizes it. Until then, they're just regular people like anyone else. Some of them show signs of power beforehand. Others…you'd never have known it."

"How do they self-actualize?" she asked.

He paused. "I don't know; I've never done it myself." He smiled, opening the door of her sleigh and ushering her inside.

Before pulling out into the snow toward Evna, Evelyn turned in her sled, looking into the face of the powerful child queen who slid into one of the sleighs behind her. She smiled at her, vastly appreciative for her help. Ozma waved and smiled, returning the gesture. Evelyn bowed her head. Raising her glance once more, she silently mouthed something to the girl.

"Thank you."

#

"Your Majesty!" Ozma now ran through the blizzard toward Evelyn where she still knelt, frozen with panic in banks of white powder outside the city gates. Evelyn attempted to stand, but her body was paralyzed. Her hands trembling, she reached up to the young queen, ashamed.

"I can't…I can't save them…"

"Your Majesty, what's going on? Why were all of those people standing outside?" Scarecrow approached, kneeling in the snow next to herself and Ozma.

"It's Everard…he's back…"

"Who?"

"He'll kill us all…"

"Your Majesty, please, you have to get up…" Ozma looked behind her; Dorothy approached through the flurry, faltering on foot in the deep banks of snow.

"She can't get up…" Ozma spoke worriedly to Dorothy, pulling back and allowing her to take her place. Evelyn looked up at Dorothy, her eyes watering.

"I can't do this."

Dorothy smiled, tilting her head slightly and staring into her. Placing a hand on Evelyn's icy cheek, her soft olive eyes bore hypnotically into her.

"Queen of Ev, _you can_."

At once, a strange, peaceful power vibrated out of the child's words, coursing through Evelyn's body and renewing her strength. Her eyes crinkled, staring in amazement at the little girl. She touched her face with steady hands, searching her.

"Child, what are you?"

"Here to help." She took Evelyn's hands, pulling her to rise. The queen stood, renewed. She held onto Dorothy's hand, linking her other into Ozma's and fixing her gaze again on the gates.

"I have to go in..."

"We're coming with you." Ozma said, squeezing her hand.

"No, it's too dangerous. I'll be fine…" She didn't believe her own words, but she had no choice. She'd rather die trying than return to the masses outside the city, failing them and sealing their doom.

"We can help you; we're coming."

"You've already done so much; I won't let you risk your lives. Everything will be alright." She lied again.

"I'm the Queen of OZ; I can do as I please. And right now, it pleases me to help you. My friends will come along."

Scarecrow stood behind Ozma, placing a hand on her shoulder in solidarity. He smiled at Evelyn.

"Looks like you don't have a choice; you're stuck with us."

Evelyn exhaled. "Thank you…" The group neared the towering wooden gates as one. "Scarecrow, Nick…we may have to run; it might be a good idea for you to carry the girls. There's a man inside; Everard. He's killed hundreds of people, and he's holding even more hostage inside the castle, about a mile inside the city." She turned her gaze to the lion and copper man. "Would they be of any help?"

"Are you kidding?" Nick said. "Tik Tok is a one man army!" He swatted the mechanical man on the back; a loud ding sounded from the two metals clapping together. The lion glared at him, passing by toward Dorothy and nuzzling against her. "Dorothy's pet is pretty hungry, too; I say we feed the bastard to him when we get inside…"

"Nick." Scarecrow fired a warning glance at his friend. His eyes briefly darted to the girls. "Watch your language." He turned to the portly copper man. "Tik Tok…" Tik Tok stomped to face Scarecrow. "Your mission is to protect the life and physical well being of the Queen of Ev. Don't leave her side."

Tik Tok raised a copper hand to his forehead, saluting his former king. "Yes, Your Grace!" Immediately, he tromped over to where Evelyn stood.

Nick had left the group and was already hacking into the gate with his axe, creating a sizeable entrance into the city. Scarecrow had seen the severed heads immediately upon approaching the gates, and had been watching to see if either of the girls would notice. Thankfully, they were distracted by the queen's fall. If this kind of horror were visible from outside the city, he feared what was contained within would be even more gruesome.

"Ozma, Dorothy, come here." He knelt to meet their gaze. The girls drew close. He placed an arm on each child's shoulder, looking them in the eyes. "Nick and I are going to carry you through the city. I want you to promise me you'll keep your eyes closed until we've reached the castle. It's very important. Do you understand?" The girls, though visibly confused, nodded. He smiled, trying not to alarm, and averted his gaze to further down the gates. "Nick! Ready?"

"Ready!" Nick's voice barely carried through the violent wind as he jogged through the flurry toward the group. Playfully bowing before Ozma, he rolled a tin skinned arm in the air in front of his torso several times. "Your Maaajesty! May I have the pleasure of escorting you to the palace?" Ozma giggled as he scooped her up in his arms.

Scarecrow, still kneeling before Dorothy, pulled her fur hood closer around her face and rubbed her arms up and down in a warming motion.

"Warm?" he asked.

"Yep." Dorothy smiled.

"Ready?"

She closed her eyes and held out her arms. "Yep."

Scarecrow gathered little Dorothy in his arms and held her close as he ducked through the makeshift entrance created by Nick's axe. Scarecrow, Nick, and the rest of the royal court in OZ were continually at odds with themselves regarding their young queen and her friend. These children were unlike any others; they defeated evil kings, killed wicked witches, and liberated entire kingdoms. They possessed powers the likes of which even the most high-ranking wizards would give up all they had to claim as their own, and yet, in many ways, they were still just little girls. They loved to play games, cried when they were hurt, and needed to be sheltered and looked after, just like normal children. Ozma came to the throne as an orphan and Scarecrow, although formally dubbed her adviser, at times felt more like her father.

Observing the carnage as he carried Dorothy through the city, he placed a gloved hand on the back of her head which was pressed into his stuffed shoulder, eyes still obediently shut. Stepping over bodies as he followed Evelyn to the castle, he meditated on the orders he had given Dorothy and Ozma to keep their eyes closed, and marveled at what a strange thing it is for a person to give commands to the same queen he obeys. Their destination was within view immediately upon entering the city, and despite the piles of rubble and dead bodies strewn along their path, they made quick progress toward its entrance. The castle had been built into the side of a mountain, and was quite beautiful. A fortress against the harsh Evian weather, its grey stone towers extended high into the reaches of the mist that hung over the city. The surrounding houses and shops had all been burned to the ground, and only traces of human inhabitance could be found among the wreckage. Charred furniture stuck out from piles of debris; nearly everything had turned to ash.

Walking past a cottage, Nick spied a little black hand sticking out from underneath a collapsed roof. Attached to the hand was a porcelain doll, its head cracked open and hair burnt off. Still walking, he twisted backward, looking to Scarecrow with wide eyes. Their surroundings made it clear that the tyrannical man who overthrew the monarchy was sadistic, but children? He slowed his pace to allow Scarecrow to catch up and motioned toward the child, his countenance emanating disgust. Scarecrow met Nick's gaze and nodded, affirming that he too had seen it. Nick turned back again, letting out a hard breath which turned to white steam in the freezing atmosphere.

As they neared the entrance to the palace, Evelyn's eyes narrowed; how was it they were able to walk through the city straight to the castle doors with no resistance? Had they not been noticed, or was it a trap? She stopped before the giant timber doors of the castle's main entrance, turning and nodding, signaling her readiness to enter. Nick and Scarecrow released the girls and gave permission for them to open their eyes. Nick knelt in front of them.

"Girls, there's a demented son of a…" He stopped, looking up at Scarecrow and raising his hands in surrender. "Excuse me." Turning back to the girls, he started over. "There's a very _bad man_ inside this castle; he may have a lot of very bad men helping him. The queen and her children need our help. I want you both to be careful in there; stay close to us." He felt ridiculous warning an Aura to be careful; he'd personally witnessed the powers Ozma possessed and knew that he probably had more cause to be concerned for his physical safety than did she. Dorothy, though not an Aura like Ozma, possessed strange powers of her own. At only seven years old she had accomplished things which even the most powerful witches in OZ could only dream of. Despite their impressive abilities, Nick felt a paternal instinct toward the girls and continually feared for their well being.

Evelyn, still feeling the residual effects of the euphoria brought about by Dorothy's spell, knelt to face the girls. Their performance would determine the future of herself, her children, and the hundreds of Evians who still lingered outside the city gates, half alive. Her cool blue eyes bore into them.

"You're my army now." She took their hands in her own and blessed them each with a kiss on the forehead. Standing, she addressed the rest of the group. "There's a large hall when you first enter the castle; we're going to cross through it and pass under an archway in the back. Down that hall on the left will be two blue glass doors; they're the doors to the throne room. I think that's where he might be."

"Don't worry Your Majesty," Dorothy looked up at Evelyn, the trim of her fur cape fluttering in the wind. "We'll get your castle back for you. Then everyone can come inside and get warm, and we can eat, and Ozma and I can play with the children!"

Completely taken aback at the casual nature in which Dorothy had just professed to save an entire kingdom, Evelyn looked up at Nick and Scarecrow, bewildered. Scarecrow shrugged and smiled, then began to tug at one of the giant doors. Ozma slid her hand into Dorothy's. As they prepared to enter, Nick laughed, smirking proudly at Evelyn.

"Ya hear that? Child's play."

The entrance groaned under Scarecrow's pull, and each member of the party slipped noiselessly inside the palace walls.

Chapter two

Everard leaned back in his newly acquired throne; a shining crown rested on his dark hair. With one leg casually extended, he shifted his weight to his elbow. Fingers cradling the edge of his chin, he surveyed the fruit of his labors; frightened women clustered together in every corner of the room. There had been too many to keep them all together in the throne room. Some he ordered to be locked in the upper levels of the castle; others had been crammed into the prison tower attached to the west wing. Even those packed into cells with violent criminals counted themselves fortunate to be out of Everard's grasp, even if only for now.

Scanning the premises, his focus shifted to a pale young creature quivering against the back wall. A blank look sprung from her swollen, raw eyes. Black crusted lacerations decorated the back of her dress, mirroring that of countless others who dared to cry for their loved ones. Like the others, she made eye contact with no one and remained silent, willing herself to melt into the walls, to evaporate from sight. His eyes still burning into her, he turned his head toward the guard to his left.

"Do you think I've taken too many? At first it seemed a glamorous idea to have every woman of Ev at my disposal, but now it seems the slaves are crowding the king out of his own castle!" he laughed. "Perhaps I should cast some of the less attractive ones out into the snow to make room…"

The man standing near him was one who had been coerced into servitude not by Everard's sorcery, but by threat of the beheading of his two sons. He breathed in, swallowing. Shame overcame him as he looked down at the floor where the thrones were situated. So far he'd managed to distance himself from the crowd, attempting to avoid the sickness that came from acknowledging that several of the women in the room were his own relatives. Still standing at attention, he slowly inched his eyes to his right, peering at his conqueror. A mixture of hatred and humiliation scorched his heart.

Raising his hand to his chin again, Everard feigned a look of contemplation. "No, I suppose I like having them all..." He smiled dementedly at the pale young woman in the back. "Every one of them." He raised his arm and snapped his fingers, sending a shattering echo throughout the room. The women jolted; who was next? Everard pointed to the ashen girl.

"That one."

The girl, numb both from hopelessness and the shock of all she had experienced in the last week, appeared not to notice she had been chosen as Everard's next plaything. One of the guards stationed in the back of the room pressed through the crowd to retrieve her, dragging her forward. She emerged from the mass, shoved outward by the guard into the open area where the thrones stood; the push propelled her forward like a rag doll. Her eyes floated vacantly above sallow cheeks, staring off at nothing. Every few seconds, a soft twitch jerked her head slightly to one side. Everard extended his hand to her.

"Come here."

He looked at her as a child would a new toy. The girl ascended the raised area where the thrones stood. Though her body stood inches from his, she was gone. The smell of cedar and wild cherry wood wafted through her mind. Her little brothers and sisters ran through the garden, laughing and chasing a goose. Her father looked up from his workbench where he was sawing legs for a table, smiling at her. Her mother came from the house with a plate of bread and fish, calling the family to eat.

"Something troubling you, darling?" He reached for a plum out of the dish held next to him by a trembling maid. He stood, facing her. His frame was large and hot, radiating the danger within. "Are you hungry? Why, you must not have eaten in days!" He stepped close and pulled her body nearer.

"I'll share my fruit if you'll share yours."

He opened his jaw wide and bit into the plum, holding it snugly between his lips. Drawing his mouth to hers, he prompted her to take a bite from the other side. She stood motionless as before, staring blankly at the other side of the room. After waiting a moment, his eyes grew cold. He took a step backward and ripped the plum from his mouth, crushing the morsel inside. A trickle of sticky juice dripped down his chin.

"No appetite?" He chewed for a moment, staring at her. Reaching a hand forward, he ran his fingers through her dirty hair and caressed her cheek, sliding his fingers down to her chin. He jerked her face toward him.

"Look at me."

She remained expressionless, staring at the floor behind him. He took another bite, walking around her in a circle. His boots shot a threatening reverberation throughout the room. Facing her again, he stood for a moment, clenching his jaw. He spat the chewed plum onto her face.

"_Look at me_!"

It was as if nothing had happened. She stood, remaining silent. Still at home in her mind, her family stood round; their arms enclosed her like a protecting force.

Chucking the fruit onto the ground, Everard stomped back to his throne, barking at the guard attending him. "Kill her."

The guard's blood turned to ice. In the last week he had passively obeyed every order from Everard and the others who seemed to have become his right hand men via mind control. They threatened the lives of his two sons, offering to spare them by tossing them out of the city gates in exchange for his fealty to Everard. In order to save the lives of his boys, he would have to soil his hands with the blood of innocents; he'd accepted the bargain. Serving as an agent of bedlam, he assisted with much of the death and suffering that had taken place in Evna…but he had yet to take a life with his own hands. He fixed his gaze on the young girl. She looked as though her mind had been scoured bare by the bloodbath. For the first time, he dared to look behind her at the horde. Just as he feared, many of the women he loved and knew stood there. Each one was dirty, beaten, and frightened senseless. A wave of disgust and pity broke loose, flooding his body.

"Well?" Everard snapped, shattering his trance. He tossed him a thick wooden post. "Break her neck! But take her outside first; all of the smell of blood today is making me ill." He slouched in his throne, picking at his ear with his pinky. Yawning, he stretched his arms outward. A moment passed.

"No."

Hushed gasps resonated within the mass of women. Lifeless eyes caught on fire, attentive to the defiance they had just witnessed. Another man trying to be a hero? Nothing good would come of it. Another head on a spear, more violence to behold.

Everard sat motionless in his seat; the air in the room went cold. After what seemed like ages to both the women and the defiant guard, he turned abruptly, still in his seat, feigning a look of confusion. Half laughing, he addressed the man.

"Pardon?"

The guard swallowed. Knowing his next words may be his last, he attempted to repeat what he'd said only a moment ago. Grasping desperately for any ounce of courage he had left, he gazed upward, locking eyes with his oppressor.

"I said_ no_."

Everard's gaze darkened. "No _what_?"

The guard took the girl gently by the arm and led her back to the crowd. Two other women pulled her back into the group. Collectively, they cradled her within their arms, acting as a human shelter. He stepped forward again, still locking eyes with Everard. Boldness possessed him. Raising his eyebrows with a half smile, he tossed the post flippantly to the side. It smacked against the wall, hitting the ground and quickly wobbling to a halt. He folded his arms, glaring at Everard.

"Does that clarify it for you?"

Everard's eyes turned black.

"You're a fool."

"Yes, I am a fool…" He knew this to be true; despite that he had saved the lives of his sons, the knowledge of his actions made him sick. "…and a coward, too." He paced toward Everard, stopping protectively in front of the group of women. "But you," he started. "You're a soulless, malicious, _bastard_ son of a king." Taking three steps forward, he jabbed one final time. "I suppose that makes you the loser."

Everard glowered, rising from his seat. The other guards in the room took up their weapons, moving in toward their apostate brother. Everard held up his hands, signaling them to stop. The rebellious guard stood firm as The Bastard approached.

Laughing, Everard paced around his opponent with slow steps. "Your impudence_ really _is amusing! And I must say all of your flattering remarks are quite true." Smiling, he circled back to face him again, stopping inches from his face. "Except, you were wrong about one little thing." He leaned in and whispered in the guard's ear.

"_I always win_."

He gripped the guard by the throat with one hand and lifted him off the ground. Fighting against his hold, the man attempted to pry his fingers open, but even his two strong hands were worthless against Everard's steel grip. Legs jerking, his face began to turn blue; a thick black haze blanketed his vision.

"Your Majesty!" A muffled voice shouting from behind the cobalt glass doors was suddenly audible. "Your Majesty!" It grew closer. Everard's grip loosened as he turned in confusion toward the entrance to the throne room. After a moment, the door burst open and a disheveled soldier stumbled through the threshold, panting. Looking across the room to Everard, his eyes widened in fear. This was one of many soldiers whose minds had been mysteriously possessed. The purple tinge to their eyes distinguished them from the cowards who obeyed Everard not through magic, but only to spare their own lives.

The man stood hunched over in the doorway, struggling to catch his breath. He stumbled to the front of the room and bowed before Everard, who was still dangling the obstinate soldier from one hand. For the first time, a look of concern flashed across Everard's face. He lowered the asphyxiating soldier, surrendering his attention to his subordinate.

"…What is it?"

The soldier looked up from the ground, still bending low. "The lookouts have just spotted a small group of people at the palace entrance."

"What!? Why didn't anyone stop them at the gates? I personally ordered at least half a dozen men to keep watch!"

The man looked nervously to the side, remaining silent for a moment before responding. "They…it's just so terribly cold outside. We knew no one would dare enter the gates after the fear we've instilled in the past week…it was only for an hour or two…"

"_What!?_" Everard threw the strangling soldier to the ground and gripped the messenger by his chainmail, jerking him closer. "How many? Are they citizens? Where are they now?" The rebel soldier choked and sputtered on the ground, grasping at his throat and struggling for air. Everard took no notice, still surrendering all attention to the guard who bore the news.

"Only a few…two little girls, a woman, and- some kind of creatures were with them."

Everard loosened his grip on the messenger and shoved him backward, scoffing. "You ran all the way up here to alert me to the presence of _children _and a _woman_? Just kill them! Stop wasting my time." He turned his back to the man and began walking toward the thrones. Lifting his hand behind him, he continued. "And get those soldiers back to their posts!"

Rather than turning to go as he was ordered, Everard's pawn stood frozen in place. He swallowed hard, timidly parting his lips to speak again.

"Your Majesty…"

Everard turned around, impatience pooling in his eyes. Staring back at his servant, he raised his eyebrows and widened his gaze, prompting the man to finish his statement.

"The woman that was with them…" he looked at the ground. "She…we think it may be the queen."

A brief sound like that of a rushing river drew into the lungs of Everard's female captives. Everard clenched his jaw, shifting his gaze back and forth along the floor in front of him. Letting out a hard breath, he looked back at the guard.

"Are you certain?"

"Nearly positive, Your Majesty."

Everard paced toward the soldier, his robe catching the air and floating behind him. As he stopped, the man squinted his eyes and twinged, anticipating a blow. Everard merely stood in front of him for a moment, then began pacing nervously again in the other direction, smoothing his hair with a shaking hand. How could this be possible? He tried to think clearly through the smog of panic that overwhelmed his thoughts. He plainly remembered seeing the queen and her children at the Nome King's mountain only a little over a month ago. Evelyn shone the brightest of all the ornaments; a turquoise enamel egg inlaid with white gold and diamonds. As he left the mountain, he experienced for the first time a feeling which he imagined was happiness. It was the day he was finally going to be acknowledged by King Evoldo, his father…

Chapter three

Unlike the other children who grew up in the palace, Everard had no one to regale him with the tale of his birth. Whether he came into the world greeting the brightness of day or the cold chill of night, he didn't know. Even the day of his delivery was unknown; no one ever took care to document the birth of an illegitimate child, especially the illegitimate child of the king. From his first day of life, Everard was concealed from the court. A sordid secret, he spent the majority of his first years in solitude in the servant's quarters of the palace. No one in particular raised him. Passed off from one milk maid to the next, he grew attached to no one; he had no one, and was no one. At age six, they set him to work as a servant.

King Evoldo was quite aware of his son's existence. One of many young ladies with which he had been having an affair one day came to him in private, revealing her pregnancy. Evoldo, being a cruel man, denied paternity and accused her of whoredom, though he knew this to be completely untrue. He'd initiated the affair, and knew her to be virtuous. She was still very young when he summoned her to his chambers for the first time. After several months, when the pregnancy began to show, the lady disappeared from court life. Her funeral was held four months later; an illness had been fabricated to cover her shame. Only the king, the girl's parents, and the palace servants understood the truth; she had died of severe blood loss after a precarious delivery.

The one courtesy bestowed upon the child by the population of servants was to maintain the name his mother, who still loved Evoldo despite his cruelty toward her, had given him before she died: Everard, a variation of Evoldo. From time to time, Evoldo caught glimpses of his miniature self scrubbing the floors in the library or carrying baskets of vegetables into the kitchen. Though he never spoke a word to the boy, every once in a while their eyes would meet; he felt as if he were looking into a mirror. Growing up, when he asked about his parents, Everard was simply told that he had none. He developed a tremendous sense of loneliness and constantly suffered immensely malicious teasing from the other servant children. Many of the adults referred to him as "the bastard" behind his back, a cutting name which their children soon adopted and implemented during their torment.

It wasn't until he was nearly fifteen that Everard discovered the man he had been serving may be his own father. One day while unloading a barrel of tea in the basement of the kitchen, he overheard two servant women gossiping about the recently announced pregnancy of the queen.

"I heard her tell the king she hopes it'll be a boy! Said she would love to give him his first son! That poor woman! I suppose she's better off not knowing what a pig she married…"

The other woman clucked back "To be sure; I was in the room when Everard was born. His whore mother was actually proud of him! If she hadn't died after giving birth who knows what amount of scandal she would have brought to court with that bastard!"

As the women turned the corner, Everard quickly slouched behind the tea barrel, continuing to listen to their gossip as they made their way back up the stairs toward the kitchen. Long after their voices trailed off, he sat leaned against the wall, dazed. His father was _the king_?

As the months passed, excitement grew surrounding the first born child of Evoldo and Evelyn. Lavish gifts arrived daily from Ev's neighboring countries of Ix and OZ, and the queen was busy orchestrating the design and construction of an opulent nursery. One day while carrying a bucket of dirty mop water through the halls to dump in the gardens outside, Everard was intercepted by a tall, lanky man in a purple tunic.

"Boy! Stop!" He jerked back to see the architect for the nursery jogging toward him. "I need you to take these plans to the king's office for me. Can you manage that?"

An opportunity to come face to face with his father, perhaps even to speak to him! Everard nodded eagerly as he took the blueprints from the draftsman.

"Good lad! Don't waste any time; these plans need to be delivered immediately. I would take them myself, but the queen has requested to see me; some kind of emergency with a bay window!" The architect flew into the hallway toward the nursery, leaving Everard as quickly as he'd found him.

Everard's heart fluttered out of control as he approached the king's office. He knocked on the door. A commanding voice boomed out into the hall.

"Come in."

Everard pressed his weight against the door. Entering, he saw Evoldo sitting behind a massive marble desk, papers and scrolls strewn across its surface. Intricate tapestries hung on every wall, and a large stained glass window spread colorful rays of light throughout the room. He was alone.

Everard stood frozen in the doorway for several moments, staring unabashedly into the face of the man who may be his father. Could it really be? He examined his face; they shared the same jaw line, the same nose, even their eye color matched exactly. The king's thick black hair lay smooth under his coronet. Everard lifted a dirty hand, smoothing through the identical hair on his own head. Still engrossed in his paperwork, Evoldo waved him in without looking. Everard stepped into the room, grasping for courage to speak.

"I was asked to bring you the plans for the nursery…" His face burned.

"Ah, fine. Unroll them." Evoldo spoke casually, still not looking at the servant standing before him. Everard opened the end of the tube the architect had pawned off on him moments earlier, sliding the rolled paper from its home. After another moment, Evoldo laid his documents aside and spoke again, this time raising his eyes to acknowledge him.

"Just lay them out on the-" He stopped mid-sentence; shock permeated his countenance. Still gaping at the boy, he finished. "...on the desk."

Everard leaned forward and carefully spread the plans out onto the desk, pinning the corners with heavy glass paperweights. His gaze never left the king's face. Evoldo cleared his throat and looked down again, faking interest in the plans. His mind reeled. He'd considered it an accomplishment being able to avoid Everard for the past fifteen years. Despite this, he imagined the day would come when, despite his best efforts, he would come face to face with the boy. He could feel Everard's eyes smoldering into him. Irritated by the presence of The Mistake, he glanced upward frostily.

"That will be all." Looking down again at the plans, he prayed the words would be enough to remove the boy from his presence.

"Your Majesty." Everard bowed low before turning his back. He took one step toward the door and stopped. Pausing for a moment, he turned back again. Several seconds passed. Evoldo refused to look up. Irritated, Everard drew closer.

"Are you hoping for a boy?"

Evoldo's eyes finally jerked upward. "Excuse me?"

"Are you hoping that the baby is a boy?" he repeated. "A _male heir_, a first born _son_?" Anger pooled in his eyes.

Evoldo's gaze widened. He barked back. "You are never to address me unless spoken to! Now get out before I throw you in prison for contempt!"

Damning the consequences, Everard leaned over the desk and spoke in a low, unstable voice.

"I'm your son. I know you know that!" He continued, looking Evoldo up and down in disgust. "You've known it the entire time…" He began to pace the room, trembling. "You've had everything, and I have had nothing! You brought me into this world and gifted me with isolation and ridicule!" His chin quivered. "How could you do it? How could you abandon your own son? Do I mean nothing to you?"

Evoldo paused, his cheeks reddening. A look of culpability flashed across his face. Anger came next, flushing out the guilt. He bent forward, speaking in a hushed tone.

"Perhaps if you'd been born of the right woman, you could have been my son. But your mother is a dead whore. Yes, you mean nothing to me." He tilted back in his chair, glaring coldly at the boy. Everard stood frozen. Evoldo unfastened the blueprints and lifted them to his face, shielding it from the boy.

"That will be all."

Eight weeks later, Prince Evardo was born. Soon after the birth, nobility from the far reaches of Ev gathered to honor the first born son of the king. The throne room, beautifully decorated, hosted the fanfare. By then, Everard had lost any amount of sanity he still possessed before the day he faced Evoldo. Jealousy raged within him. After his father's rejection, he disappeared from the eyes of those who lived in the palace. The other servants assumed he had run away, but he was still there, imperceptible, continuously spying on the king and queen. Late at night, he would creep into the queen's bedroom and stand over her, watching her sleep. Her distended womb rose and fell as she slumbered in peace. During the days he hid in the nursery which, not yet being occupied, stood silent. Soaking in the lavish environment which should have been his, his resentment spread through him like a malignant tumor.

By the day of the public hailing of the new prince, Everard had slipped so far into madness that he thought nothing of storming the throne room and publicly demanding to be acknowledged as the first born of the king. Foreign dignitaries and the nobility of Ev witnessed the frightening display as the royal guards dragged him from the throne room, thrusting and screaming. That same day he was severely lashed and cast into the royal prison where he would spend the next ten years descending deeper and deeper into the insanity that gripped him.

The first weeks in prison were enough to deteriorate him almost entirely, both mentally and physically. Half starved and filthy, he spent every moment of his existence packed in crowded cells which were dank with the sweat and odor of his fellow miscreants. He daydreamed of suicide. One day, he attacked a prison guard with a paltry dagger he'd whittled out of a spoon, hoping to be beaten to death in retaliation. Two other officers grabbed his arms, holding him down. The first of the two kicked him violently in the side of the head, knocking him out.

He awoke hours later, crumpled along a filthy wall in a cell at the back end of the prison. The realization that he was still alive pained him far deeper than the oozing gash on his temple. His new living quarters were those reserved only for the most violent offenders. Inmates were frequently murdered by one another in fits of rage; the royal guards would leave a body until it began to rot, then would shackle the prisoners' ankles, forcing them to carry it outside and bury it.

One morning, something exciting happened. A fat rat scurried across the prison floor. It was clearly lost, as food rarely made its way to that section of the prisons, and even it would be turned down by vermin. Everard locked eyes with a giant, tattooed man in the corner; he had seen it, too. They lunged simultaneously for the morsel. Everard grabbed the rat by the tail, flinging it off of the ground and bringing it to his mouth just as the tattooed man elbowed him in the face, grabbing it and running away. Everard scrambled to his feet, shrieking with rage and pummeling into the man.

"It's mine!"

The tattooed prisoner slid a knife from his back pocket, pulling it to Everard's throat; he held the squirming rat in his teeth. An ancient voice cracked out of the shadows.

"I believe the young man said it was his."

The tattooed man's eyes bulged. Dropping the knife, he carefully took the rat out of his mouth, breaking its neck and handing its motionless carcass to Everard.

"There's a good boy." The old man hobbled nearer, drawing out of the darkness. His back was hunched and horribly twisted with age and disease. "Run along, now." He stooped, picking up the knife and tossing it at him. "And don't forget your toy."

The man caught the knife in trembling hands and scampered away. Everard held the rat close, staring wide eyed at the decrepit stranger. The man shuffled nearer.

"You're Everard, aren't you?"

Everard nodded, unable to speak. The man motioned to the rat.

"I'm not going to take it from you; it's yours."

Everard lifted the vermin; his mouth watered. Biting into it, he spit out the fur and began gnawing at its flesh. His mouth full, he gathered the courage to speak.

"Why was that man afraid of you?"

Merely laughing, the old man crouched to the ground to sit. He pulled a bundle of sticks from his shirt.

"That rat might taste better cooked." He snapped the bundle in half; its ends blazed. Tossing it onto the ground in front of him, he looked up. "Sit down." Everard's mouth curled up into a smile; he plunked onto the floor, turning the rat over the flames.

"You can make fire?"

"There are a lot of things I can do." He stared at the boy. "I recognize you. So it's true then; you're the bastard son of the king, aren't you? I used to see you in the market every week; you're an image of your father."

Everard's face burned. "I have no father."

The man stared into the flames for several moments before speaking. "My name is Choshech. I'm a bastard, too." He laughed. "Not a royal bastard such as yourself, but a bastard nonetheless. Why are you here?"

Everard pulled the rat out of the flames, picking at its skin. "I made a scene in the palace; the throne belongs to me, not that inept runt of the queen's."

"I see…" Choshech examined the boy. He was thin and weak; dirt caked his skin. "And what are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing." Everard gnawed at the roasted flesh. "I'm powerless."

"My boy," Choshech turned to him. "There is no such thing as powerlessness. You can take the power back, if you want it."

Everard stopped chewing. "What are you talking about?"

"I grew up much like you; ridiculed, forgotten, having no one. I was raised to believe I too was powerless; my mother died when I was a child, leaving me in the clutches of my stepfather. He was a relentless drunk, never passing by an opportunity to beat me within an inch of my life." Everard continued to bite at the rat, engrossed by the ancient man's tale.

"I worked hard, saved some money, and one day I disappeared without telling a soul. I traveled the world and met a witch in OZ; she allowed me to live in her castle in exchange for servitude. At night I would sneak into her library, reading everything I found. I stayed there for five years until one day I decided to go home. And do you know the first thing I did when I returned?"

Everard shook his head, his mouth full of juicy rat tissue.

"I murdered the son of a bitch; slit his throat while he slept." He smiled derangedly. "Ever since that moment I've been free. Retribution is a beautiful thing, son."

_Son_. No one had ever called him that before.

"Would you like some advice?"

Everard nodded; his gaze was fastened to his new hero.

"No person will ever give you what you deserve; it's up to you to take it. And when you take it, take it without mercy, without permission. Then people will know better than to trifle with you again."

Everard's mouth hung open; the rat's arm dangled from his jaw.

"How? How can I take what's mine?"

Choshech laughed, patting him on the back. "With magic, son; with magic!"

#

Everard spent the next eight years glued to Choshech's side in the prison, learning everything he could. Choshech treated him as an equal, and was the closest thing to family he'd ever experienced. As the years passed, however, his ancient friend grew increasingly frail; his mind began to leave him, slipping away slowly like a cube of ice in the sun. Yesterday he received word that the king had set his date for execution; it was to be the next morning at dawn.

"Everard…Everard…"

It was deep into the night; Choshech shook at Everard's arm. The years had changed him; he was no longer a frail young boy; prison life made him stronger and harder. He sat up from his sleeping place on the floor. His body had grown; a broad, powerful chest turned to the old man.

"What is it?" Everard pressed his hands to his eyes.

"I'll be dead in a few hours, and I still haven't told you about the magic."

Everard breathed out, pitying him in his confused state. "You've told me, Choshech. I've been learning it from you for the past eight years."

"No, no…" He looked around at the mass of sleeping prisoners around them. Leaning in, he whispered. "Farotic magic." He giggled; his cataract eyes glowed murkily against the light of the moons that spilled in through the tiny window in the ceiling.

"Farotic magic?"

"Shhh!" Choshech glanced nervously around him once more. "Come with me…" He strained to stand, limping toward an unoccupied corner of the room. He collapsed onto the floor, patting at the ground next to him. Everard obediently followed, sitting close.

"There is a place in Ix; do you know Ix?" he whispered.

"The neighboring country? I've never been there."

"No matter…Everard, there's a book there, hidden somewhere. It contains the details of Farotic magic."

Everard's brow wrinkled. "What is it?"

"Only a legend at this point, my boy, only a legend. But you can find it, I know you can!" Choshech gripped Everard's shoulders.

"It's soul magic, son."

Everard stared back at him, confused.

"I would have searched for it myself were I not so old when I first heard rumor of it. It's hidden in a cave behind a waterfall somewhere in Ix; men have fallen to their deaths attempting to climb every waterfall in the land, looking for it…but it's never been found." He smiled, continuing. "You can use the souls of living things to conjure spells beyond your wildest imagination; perhaps a few of those souls could be royal, yes?" He winked, his muted laugh turning into a cough.

Everard pursed his lips; it was becoming increasingly difficult to distinguish between Choshech's alternating lucid and demented states. Perhaps everything he was saying was merely a delusion? He thought of the king, of the child that would take what was supposed to be his. The magic sounded too good to be true, but if he could find the book…

"Promise me you'll find it, Everard." The old man's hands quaked, still grasping at his shoulders. The prison doors opened; two guards stood at the entrance.

"There he is." One of them pointed to Choshech. They entered the room, stomping toward him and pulling him to stand.

"Choshech!" Everard stood; one of the guards shoved him back as they pulled his ancient friend out of the cell toward the execution room.

"You can do it, Everard!" Choshech shouted, the guards still dragging him down the hall. "Take your power back!"

"Choshech!"

The doors slammed shut.

Everard remained in prison for the next two years, waiting to be released. Though every day was spent crowded in filthy cells with dozens of other men, he was utterly alone; his fellow inmates feared him, knowing he had become apprentice to Choshech, and kept their distance. Each day he ruminated on the things that had been taken from him; a family, a chance at happiness, the power of the throne, and his only friend in the world.

He'd plotted several times to murder the guards that had taken Choshech away from him that night, and had numerous opportunities to follow through, yet despite his rage against them, his desire for revenge against the king outweighed his thirst for blood. Days turned into months, and months into years, until one day, his time had come; he was freed, cast out of the prison with only the dirty rags on his back.

Though he left in the same bitter and lonely state in which he'd arrived, he was a changed man, both physically and mentally. Prison life had taught him that everything Choshech said was true; there were things that belonged to him, and if he wanted them, he must take them. The morning of his confidant's execution, he vowed to use the magic he'd learned to bring an equal measure of torture to all who had caused him pain. As he walked out of the prison gates, more deranged than ever, he immediately set out toward Ix, praying the magic Choshech had spoken of was more than just the delusion of an aged and demented mind.

It was nearly a week's journey to the tropical land of Ix, and well worth the effort. Lush, flowering plants covered every inch of the land. It was warm there, and a balmy haze of moisture lingered in the air. As he hiked further into the terrain, his heart sank; hundreds of giant, cascading waterfalls blanketed the surrounding mountains. He gathered his strength, heading toward the first; it was time to take his power back.

He spent several weeks in the belly of the jungle, scaling the towering falls one by one and finding nothing. Every step of ascent and descent was precarious; the rocks of the falls were jagged and slimy, sopping with moisture from the tumbling waters. His feet and hands were bloody and torn from the continuous slips and falls that nearly sent him cascading to his death on the rivers below. Nursing a sliced foot along a bank of water in the valley, he resolved to give up; Choshech must have been mad. It had taken him nearly a month to scale half of the falls; his body was weak and tired, and he'd come too close to death too many times. He couldn't go on. Standing, he limped across the terrain back toward Ev.

Pressing through a thicket of flowering reeds, he stopped; a waterfall he hadn't noticed gushed down a mountainside in the far distance. He continued on his path, then slowed, turning his head to stare at it. Stopping for a brief moment, he considered climbing it. It was one of the taller falls in the jungle, and the climb looked to be particularly dangerous. Looking down at his throbbing feet, he shook his head, turning to leave.

_You can do it, Everard! Take your power back! _Choshech's voice rang in his memory. He stopped again, breathing out heavily and fixing his gaze on the falls. _Just this one, _he reassured himself, trekking toward it.

_Just one more._

He scaled the mountain. Excruciating pain radiated through his hands and feet as they grasped at every serrated stone along the way. As with every other climb, he carefully scanned the perimeter of the surging waters, searching for a cavern. Three hundred feet high on the mountainside, his heart tripped; behind the giant sheet of crashing water, he spied what appeared to be an entrance into the interior of the mountain. He inched under the torrent, clinging to the rocks behind it and making his way toward the cave.

Chilled by both the icy water that pummeled against his back and the excitement at finding the secret place, Everard peered deeper into the cave, adjusting his eyes to the darkness. Its interior echoed, magnifying the blasting sound of the falls outside and nearly deafening him. Blinking, the dark void gradually fell into focus; he noticed a high pile of rocks in the back corner of the cave. The weight of his sopping wet clothes pressed heavily into his body as he staggered toward the mound. Dropping to his knees, he pulled frantically at the craggy minerals that separated him from sweet retribution. His knuckles bleeding from tearing at the rocks, he finally uncovered it. Though frail and yellowed, the book was still very much intact. Its title had been drawn out elaborately in blood: _Farotic Magic_. Choshech was right; the legend was true, and now, no longer a legend, but a reality gripped tightly in his hands.

The moment his eyes scanned the first of the delicate pages of the manuscript, he was consumed. Every word on the parchment seeped out like hot tar, sticking fast in his mind and pulling him deeper into darkness. Obsessed, he spent the next several hours on the floor of the cave, devouring its contents. Farotic magic, the sinister act of spirit theft, was harnessed by slaying something that was living, anything at all, as long as it had a heart. Before killing the victim, a piece of the body was removed, preferably something small and portable, as the energy was stored in this body part and used at a later date according to the whims of the practitioner. A simple incantation spoken in a language which died out centuries ago transferred the spirit of the living thing into the body part before it had a chance to escape to the spirit world. Once this was accomplished, the soul would be trapped forever, belonging to he who stole it, to be used in any way he desired.

After memorizing every page of the volume, Everard immediately set to work. Several days were spent in the pursuit and capture of animals in the jungles of Ix. He'd found another, much smaller cave, this one also behind a waterfall, but level to the ground. Each night he brought more creatures into it, storing them for the practice to come.

As the suns began to set on the last day of his hunt, he prepared for the thrilling night ahead, taking inventory of his menagerie. Several birds whose wings he'd broken were piled in one corner. Still alive, their feet were tied to long strings trapped under a heavy boulder. Squirrels, rabbits, and mice were crammed together in a sturdy enclosure he had made from branches and sticks. His prize, a beautiful young doe, trembled in the corner. He bound her by the neck with a makeshift rope of reeds, attaching it to a tree branch that had grown inside the cavern. The rope squeezed tightly against her neck, choking her as she attempted to lick at her wounded leg.

The last of the three suns dropped into the horizon like a ball of melting gold, sucking the light out of the sky; it was time. Behind the falls, under the black cloak of night, Everard excitedly began his practice. One by one, he retrieved the trembling creatures from their confines. Though breaking the neck was quickest, he preferred to bleed them slowly. A strange thrill rang through him as he watched each spirit leave its body by his own control. The dark magic came easily to him, his madness providing the fuel to carry on through the night without ceasing. He chanted the cryptic words by the waft of flame light, willing each spirit's imprisonment into ears, eyes, and paws.

At dawn the three suns reappeared, cracking over the horizon and shedding brightness across the verdant land. Light began to shift into the cave, filtered by the sparkling falls that masked its entrance. Everard stood inside, quivering and plastered with blood; a sick grin spread over his face as he surveyed the treasure he he'd amassed during the night: a small collection of trapped spiritual energy. It was just enough to cast a haze over the eyes of all living in the royal palace, making him invisible. Using it, he would stroll through the front entrance, murder his father, and slip out again long before he could be discovered.

He exhaled, whispering a prayer of thanks to his departed mentor. Exhausted, he sunk onto the cool, wet floor of the cave. Tomorrow would begin his travels back into Ev, where he would at last be able to take what was his, just as Choshech told him to: without permission, without pity. Visions of precious vengeance flooded his dreams as he surrendered to bottomless sleep.

On the first day of his return he neared the borders of Ev, where it was winter. The air began to grow colder with every step, and the tropical trees of Ix gradually morphed into the sturdy, snow covered pines of Ev. He was home. After four more days of travel, he finally spied the towering wooden gates of Evna forming in the distance. It was deep into the night; the city rested, dim and silent. He entered the open gates.

A chilling mist hovered over the snow crusted earth, caressing the homes of the villagers who slept nestled inside. Everard oiled his way through the shadowy cobblestone streets that stretched the length of the city, leading all the way up to the palace. As he passed through, he looked at the giant clock in the town square. In only a few hours, dawn would illuminate the entire city. He ached at the thought of missing the horror which would commence at the discovery of the bloodied corpse of the king, but to remain at the palace was far too risky. The spell would be short lived, lasting only as long as it would take to carry out the deed. The murder itself would have to be pleasure enough.

His heart raced as he neared the perimeter of the castle. The entry was protected only by two young, drowsy looking guards. He darted behind a thicket of shrubs and, trembling, dumped out his sack of contained spirits into his hand. Squeezing his eyes shut, he cradled the body parts between his hands and whispered one of his precious, newly learnt incantations under his breath. He split open his palms and blew into them. The body parts had turned to purple dust from the incantation, and his breath sent them tumbling through the air toward the palace.

He cracked one eye open and looked around, leaving the other tightly squinted. Had it worked? He slowly peeked above the bush which shielded him from the view of the guards, but could see nothing beyond a foot in front of him; the entire castle was shrouded in a thick cottony haze of fog. He looked behind him at the sleeping village. The delicate layer of mist remained, hovering only inches above the ground…nothing at all like the fog which clung to the palace. It must have worked!

Everard approached the castle's front entrance with confidence. Though the fog was clearly perceptible to him, the guards seemed entirely unaware of the sudden change in their atmosphere. He approached one of the young men as silently as possible until he stood only a few inches from his face. The sentinel continued speaking casually with his partner, totally oblivious. Everard tiptoed past the guards, placed his hands inside the chilly metal handle of one of the doors, and peered back. Still, the men noticed nothing. With a cocky half smile, he jerked open the door as quickly as he could muster and flew inside the palace. Once indoors he immediately stopped and pressed himself against the nearest wall, afraid to run and risk being heard.

"Did you see that?" the first guard spouted out in alarm.

They both rushed to the entrance, swords clinking against their armor. Peering inside the massive entry hall, they saw no one. No sound was heard but the crackling of candlelight behind carved metal sconces along the walls. The hall was brightly illuminated and extended back two hundred feet before reaching the nearest intersection, much too far for an intruder to disappear from sight within seconds of entering. Puzzled, the second guard replied after a moment.

"Maybe the door wasn't closed properly and the wind blew it open…"

His companion squinted at him. "There _is _no wind tonight. This door was shut tight; we ensured as much at the beginning of our shift."

"Well, what else could it be? You can see for yourself no one's there! We were both standing right here. The door wasn't latched. Just help me close it again so we can get back to our posts."

Everard watched as the two guards pressed the heavy wood door to a close and listened to their muffled conversation for a few moments before deeming it safe to continue. Beginning his hunt for his father, he found that nearly nothing had changed since he was dragged out of the castle kicking and screaming so many years ago. Sweet warmth permeated the entire castle; aromas of cedar and oak seeped from the lofty walls. Delicate images of nature and wildlife danced on colorful tapestries, illuminated by the flickering flames of wall sconces. Sumptuous rugs and ornately carved furniture were littered throughout. By request of the queen, fresh flowers imported from Ix could always be found gracing nearly every tabletop.

As beautiful as the palace was, every inch of it ignited painful memories from his childhood. Having been an employee of the royal family for so much of his life, he knew every inch of the castle as well as the servants' schedule. Even those who rose at ungodly hours to begin cooking breakfast and attending to the needs of the royal family wouldn't wake for quite some time. With the exception of outside guards and a small handful of men standing watch in a few of the hallways, everyone in the castle should be fast asleep; a speedy murder and getaway would be simple.

He wandered through the illuminated hallways for nearly an hour, searching out his father. He wasn't in his bedroom, but this was expected. Evoldo frequently stayed up late into the night with a select few of his most trusted advisers, carousing in the mead hall and preserving a steady trickle of intoxicating liquids into his bloodstream. Surprisingly, the mead hall was also empty. He began trekking through the east wing, then the west.

After pacing every hall of each wing twice with no luck, he absentmindedly turned for the nursery. As he drew closer, he noticed faint singing emanating from its large white carved doors, which stood partly open. Floating silently to the entrance, he peered inside and spied Queen Evelyn sitting in a high-backed rocking chair, snuggling a tiny baby in her arms. She looked exactly as he remembered her ten years ago; her hair was long and thick, cascading down her back in braided waves of gold. A music box played delicate notes which accompanied her song.

_My heart is like a singing bird  
Whose nest is in a watered shoot;  
My heart is like an apple tree  
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;  
My heart is like a rainbow shell  
That paddles in a purple sea;  
My heart is gladder than all these  
Because my love is come to me._

Raise me a dais of silk and down  
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;  
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,  
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;  
Work it in gold and silver grapes,  
In leaves and silver fleur-de-lys;  
Because the birthday of my life  
Is come, my love, is come to me.

A young boy sat curled in the corner of the bay window in striped silk pajamas, staring out intently into the frosty night as if searching for something. Though his eyes were heavy, he fought to stay awake.

"Evardo, sweetheart…" Evelyn began. The boy turned to her as she spoke. So this was the brother who had stolen his inheritance, all grown up! The last time he had seen him, he was no older than the baby the queen now held swaddled in her arms. Though he couldn't be more than ten years old, the boy had a worn look about his face, as though he had seen all of the horrors and trials of a man of old age. His heavy eyes were a vibrant blue, like his mother's.

Evelyn continued, looking piteously at her son. "It's so late… go on to bed, darling. You'll see him tomorrow perhaps."

The boy looked at the floor. "But I've been waiting all night…just another hour?" His eyes were desperate; their accompanying dark circles dragged his countenance down, matching his heavy heart.

Evelyn sighed. It could be hours before her husband returned from his usual night of debauchery, and then he would be heavily intoxicated. She'd attempted to hide his behavior from her children, but as Evardo grew, he began to understand that his hero was a drunk. Still, this didn't seem to affect the admiration he felt for him. He was desperate to spend time with him, but between Evoldo's responsibilities and revelry, Evardo was rarely allowed this privilege.

Moments later, the slap of heavy boot soles echoed through the long hallway outside the nursery. Evardo immediately perked up, darting his gaze to the doorway. Everard, forgetting his invisibility and fearful of being discovered, shrank away in a panic. Immediately upon looking upward, he saw him.

King Evoldo lumbered down the lengthy passage, a nearly empty bottle of liquor in hand. Everard caught his breath and pressed against the wall as he stumbled nearer. Reaching the entrance to the nursery, the drunken ruler staggered to a halt. For a moment, he stared in at the queen and her babes; his head was swimming in booze, causing the rest of him to sway back and forth slightly. To Everard's horror, Evoldo slowly turned his watch from the nursery, looking straight into his face. He held his breath, frozen by the startling gaze of his father. Evoldo's face twisted in confusion. He reached out with his right hand, drawing closer to Everard's face. Everard arched his back, inching away from his touch.

"Evoldo?" Evelyn's voice resonated out into the hallway, stopping the approaching hand of the king. His stare jerked back into the nursery at his wife. Disregarding her call, he looked once again at the bare wall where he had previously been transfixed. Still gazing perplexedly at the empty space, he lowered his hand, closed his eyes, and shook his head, attempting to eject from his mind the feeling that something were there, staring back.

He wasted no time recommencing his stagger down the hall toward his office. Everard's heart stumbled in his chest as his eyes followed the king's retreat; he remained stationary, attempting to calm his breath. Another voice sounded from the nursery.

"Dad?"

"Evardo…" Evelyn called after him, her tone coated with anxiety. Still standing frozen outside the nursery entrance, Everard watched as the young prince darted out of the room and hastened to catch up to his father. Moving his small legs as quickly as possible to keep up with his father's long, drunken strides, the boy looked up at his idol, holding out something he'd made. It was a crown, fashioned from decorated scraps of paper.

"See what I made? It looks just like yours!"

Grinning, he tacked the pretend coronet onto his head and held out his arms, scanning his father's face for any ounce of acknowledgment. Evoldo slowed his pace as he glanced down at the nuisance. Upon seeing the play crown, a look of disgust washed over his face. He briefly stumbled to a stop, glaring at him. Scoffing, he shoved Evardo backward and continued his pilgrimage toward his office.

The boy stood silent for a moment, his eyes swelling with tears. He reached to his head and took off the paper crown, turning it in his hands. A tear splattered onto the paper, warping the fibers. Clenching his teeth, he rubbed a wet eye with the palm of his hand. He looked down the hall at his father who, walking away from him, grew smaller and smaller with each step. He ripped the paper and threw it to the ground, shooting through the hall opposite Evoldo and disappearing around a corner.

Everard's eyes clouded over as he watched the pathetic scene. For a brief moment, just before the shredded crown floated to the floor, he saw not Evardo, but himself…a younger, frailer Everard, rejected by the same man. Rage began to vibrate through him once more, and he remembered his mission.

Loosely trailing Evoldo, he saw him disappear from the hall into his office, leaving the door wide open. He held his breath and scanned the hallway, ensuring no one would be around to hear the cry for help. After removing his boots as an added precaution, he slinked nearer the room, crossing silently through the threshold.

Evoldo sat hunched over his desk, methodically pouring a second shot of brandy into a crystal tumbler. Several minutes had passed and Everard remained still, staring at the man with which he had become obsessed. Just over ten years ago he had flown from that very room, rage and shame mixing together in his heart, creating a psychotic cocktail which would linger in his blood ever since, keeping him perpetually intoxicated with hatred. He tilted his head to the side and smiled darkly at the drunk behind the desk. A part of him died that day so many years ago, and finally the moment came when he would settle the loss. Never removing his gaze from the enemy, he crouched to the ground, slipping a freshly sharpened dagger from a leather holster strapped to his calf. The blade shot blinding points of light into the room as it caught the reflection of candlelight. Still smiling, he whispered.

"Old man, I'm coming…"

Evoldo was nearly asleep at this point and heard nothing. Everard rose and lifted his foot to take his first step just as a loud rapping sounded from the doorway. Catching his breath, he jerked to see a towering and strange figure of a man standing in the entrance to the office. The giant stepped into the room; a heavy cloak of black glossy furs blanketed him from head to toe.

"Your Highness." He bowed, lifting the dark hood from his face. Everard backed against the wall, observing. The man's face and hands were grey and rough. As he looked more closely, it became apparent that he was made entirely of stone. Evoldo lifted his head from the desk, blinking deliberately. Peering forward, his eyes adjusted to view the huge figure standing before him.

"Close the door." he slurred.

Though enormous and heavy, the man floated like a ghost to the door, closed it, and fastened the lock in one silent swoop. He turned again to face Evoldo.

"Sit." Evoldo pointed to a chair at the other end of the room. It was huge and heavy, made of one thick mass of carved blood wood. It must have weighed over two hundred pounds, yet the stone man lifted it with one hand and effortlessly crossed the room, inserting it squarely in front of Evoldo's desk. He seated himself and leaned back casually, eyeing the large square bottle of amber liquid.

"Aren't you going to offer your guest a drink?"

"Don't get cocky with me, Skleros." Everard mumbled as he reached for a clean glass. He yanked the top off of the bottle and sloshed a healthy serving of booze into the tumbler. Shoving it across the desk, he continued. "I may not be your king, but I still hold enough power to have you crushed into powder and refashioned into the community piss pot."

"Forgive me, Your Majesty." Skleros tapped at the glass with his fingers. "The sun will be up in two hours. Perhaps we should discuss our business? The Nome King is anxiously waiting to hear back from you regarding the arrangement."

Evoldo let out a breath and glared into his glass, turning it around in his hands.

"He knows I'm more than willing to pay his fee. The queen and ten brats are more of a hindrance to me than anything; I should be glad to be rid of them. I just can't think of a way to get them to him without arousing suspicion among my subjects."

"As much as I sympathize with your dilemma, Your Majesty, forgive me but, that is not our problem. The arrangement was for the queen and all ten of your children to be delivered to the Nome King's mountain by tonight, or the bargain is terminated."

"If he would only allow me a little more time, I'm sure I could think of something…"

The stony giant shrugged his shoulders, rose, and headed for the door.

"His Majesty has extended a generous offer to you, Evoldo." He shook his head in disappointment. "A thousand years added onto your life. A thousand more years to rule over Ev in your youth, with absolute power and authority, thrown away. I suppose it'll work out for the best; your beloved son Evardo will make a fine king in the years to come when you've grown old and decrepit."

Evoldo's face burned.

Everard's mind raced as he observed the scene playing out before him. Evoldo seemingly loved his legitimate children no more than he, and treated them with similar contempt. Like him, they were a problem to be disposed of as quickly as possible. Perhaps if he could help him to be rid of them, he would see the use in him and his affections could be won over? With the queen and heirs out of the way, Evoldo could rule without threat of replacement and might even come to love him…he would be long dead before the thousand years were up, and could be acknowledged as a son without posing a risk to Evoldo's supremacy. With his newfound powers, surely he could find a way to transfer the royal family into the hands of the Nome King! His heart pounded in his ears as he considered whether to speak. Skleros' hand extended toward the door.

"I'm afraid His Majesty will be quite insulted at your refusal to cooperate. He took a great risk at arranging this transaction, and doesn't take kindly to people breaking their word." He reached to unfasten the lock. Everard looked at his father longingly, trembling with angst. He turned his glance to the stone man who was seconds away from walking out the door; his chance would be gone forever if he didn't act now. He parted his lips, willing his voice to escape through the tightness in his chest.

"Wait!"

Evoldo and Skleros simultaneously twisted in the direction of the voice. Still heavily inebriated, Evoldo shook his head and blinked, staring at the wall from which his drunken hallucination derived. He turned to Skleros, who also stood wide eyed, frozen in the doorway. Skleros re-latched the door and boomed in the direction from which the voice sounded, drawing a large knife from inside his cloak. His eyes shifted nervously around the room.

Everard took a step toward his father, accidentally brushing a tapestry on the wall as he passed. Skleros jumped at the tapestry, thrashing his knife around in the air. The blade sliced through Everard's forehead; he screamed, dropping his blade and stumbling to the floor.

"Who's there!? Show yourself!" Skleros barked. He continued to slash through the air in the direction of the tapestry.

"Not so loud, you idiot!" Evoldo fell across the desk, reaching out toward the colossal, thrashing figure and looking nervously at the door. "If the guards hear you they'll come running…"

Skleros backed off and silenced himself, still cautiously holding his knife in the direction of the voice. Blood seeped from the wound on Everard's forehead, and as it soaked into the elaborate rug beneath him, it became visible to the men in the room. Eyes gaping at the blood stained carpet, Evoldo stumbled from his seat and grabbed a large sword off of the wall. Still swaying from intoxication, he pointed it toward the wall above where the blood lay. Everard pressed his hand against the gash, wiping away a pool of warm, thick blood. He sucked in through gritted teeth as he pressed his hand again to the wound, attempting to slow the bleeding. Skleros moved closer, unknowingly pointing his blade directly at Everard's face.

"Please! I heard the entire conversation…" Everard began. Skleros jutted his sword forward. Everard shrieked and jerked back, narrowly escaping another blow to the face. Cowering on the floor, hands covering his face, he shouted "Evoldo, I can help you! I can help you get the queen and your children to the Nome King!"

"Shhh! Damn you both!" Evoldo whispered, looking again toward the locked entrance. A moment of silence passed as he continued to stare at the door, still holding his sword with both hands in Everard's direction. Satisfied they hadn't been heard, he turned again to the voice. Despite the sludge of alcohol flowing through his veins, his heart raced. "Who are you?" he demanded in a low voice.

Everard swallowed. He turned his head upward to gaze at his obsession.

"…Everard…" He thought for a moment before continuing. "…your son."

Evoldo's stomach clenched. He recognized the voice; a memory of dark eyes staring back at him like a mirror from across the desk that day so many years ago flooded into his mind. Until that moment, Skleros hadn't removed his gaze from the point of his knife. He turned his face to Evoldo.

"Your son?"

Evoldo, still gaping in the direction of the voice, stood with his mouth slightly open, his eyes far away in thought.

"Evoldo!" Skleros shouted in whispers, snapping Evoldo out of his trance.

Evoldo narrowed his eyes.

"…Everard?"

"I was released from prison almost two months ago," he began, still crouched on the floor. Evoldo gritted his teeth, silently vowing to seek out and punish the person in charge of his release.

"I came here to- to see you."

Evoldo paused for a moment, then walked to a table in the corner of the room, lifting a large vase from its surface. Returning, he spoke in a hushed tone.

"If he doesn't cooperate, Skleros, kill him." He held the vase out in front of him. "Hold this."

Everard stood; the vision in his right eye was clouded with liquid crimson. The vase was too fat and heavy to hold with only one hand; each side of it was presently plastered with a red, sticky handprint. Evoldo released the vase and took a step back; it remained, hovering in the air. Skleros raised his knife to where Everard's back would be. Evoldo returned to the sword he'd left leaning against the wall near the table and picked it up, treading closer.

"Why can't we see you?"

"It's the magic of soul theft; I've perfected it. I can use it if you want, to help you." Everard's phantom voice sounded from behind the bloody vase.

Skleros' face twisted. "Where did you learn it?"

"It's from a book I found, in Ix." He avoided mention of Choshech.

Skleros glared at the point of his knife. "How many people did you kill for this spell?"

"None, only a few animals…" The vase grew heavy in his grip; his arms began to tremble. Skleros scoffed, turning his glance back to Evoldo.

"His invisibility won't last. With your permission, I'll take him back to the Nome King's mountain with me once it wears off and have him executed."

At first thrilled by the idea of being rid of Everard once and forever, Evoldo opened his mouth to approve of Skleros' proposition, but closed it again, remembering the promise of assistance. His wife and children were much more of a hindrance to him than Everard…with them out of the way and the bargain with the Nome King in place, he could rule as king for another thousand years. The thought of growing old and watching Evardo take possession of Ev sickened him.

"Please!" Everard yelped. "I can help! I can use the magic to help you!"

"Shh!" Evoldo let out a heavy breath; the stink of sour brandy streamed from his lips. He leaned against the desk and massaged his eyes with one hand, attempting to think clearly through the fog of alcohol.

"You can transfer the queen and all ten of my children to the Nome King's mountain _tonight_? Without anyone seeing anything or pointing any suspicion toward myself?"

"Yes," Everard grunted, the vase shaking in his arms. "I know exactly how to do it."

Evoldo glanced up at the floating vase.

"How long will it take?"

"Please, Your Majesty, you're jumping ahead of yourself." Everard grunted under the weight of the vase. "We haven't even discussed the matter of payment."

"…How much?"

"No, no money." Everard gasped, adjusting the weight of the vase in his slippery, red hands.

"You remain king, unopposed and all powerful for another thousand years, free of all ties…but you have to acknowledge me publicly as your son. I don't want anything that belongs to you; keep it all. Only let me live with you in the palace and accept me as your own. That's my price. You can accept it, or you can kill me where I stand and watch your darling second born take control of Ev in only a matter of time."

Evoldo sneered in annoyance and looked away, contemplating the proposal. Skleros chimed in.

"I suppose this arrangement does benefit each of us; I don't need to remind you, Evoldo, that time _is_ of the essence. I need a decision, now."

Exhaling, Evoldo turned toward the bloody, hovering urn.

"Put the vase down…son."

#

"I need souls…" Everard murmured. Pacing the room, he pressed a cloth to his wounded forehead.

"You know where the servants' quarters are," Evoldo began. "Just don't get caught."

Everard perked up, a smile spreading wide across his face.

"Do all of the same servants live here as before, when I lived in the palace? Have any of them left?"

"Of course not; why?"

Everard headed for the door, chuckling. "I have some particularly special souls in mind, that's all. I'll be back in twenty minutes."

Evoldo and Skleros watched as the door unbolted and creaked open on its own. Everard slipped out of the door as silently as he had entered. Slinking into the shadowy halls of the servants' quarters, he soundlessly entered and left each of the rooms. One by one, he picked off all who had tormented and rejected him as a boy; thirty five souls. With each throat sliced open, the sick joy within him grew. At last, he would be united with his father, never again referred to as _the bastard_, but as _Your Highness._ Never again tortured, but revered and respected. The murders were a perfect beginning to his new life of sweet and well deserved justice. When he returned to meet Evoldo and Skleros after collecting the souls, it seemed as though Evoldo had a look of pride on his face…yes, he was sure of it!

#

As dawn broke over the city, horrifying screams reverberated out of the castle walls, piercing the ears of the villagers outside. Nearly every servant family in the castle awoke to the sight of the cold, bloodied corpses of their loved ones. Everard, at the command of his father, poured some of the blood of the servants onto the beds of the queen and children to insinuate that they too had been murdered and their bodies taken. In the morning, after the first screams were heard, Evoldo, already having planned in advance precisely what he would do and say, ran chaotically into and out of each of the rooms of his family members, being sure to scream emphatically and tear his clothes once his frantic pretend search was completed.

Everard found himself entirely pleased with the changes he'd managed to create in only a matter of an hour. The entire kingdom was crazed with panic, the queen and her children were the shiny new possessions of the Nome King, Evoldo had added a thousand years onto his life, Everard's enemies were dead, and soon he would be officially recognized as Prince of Ev.

Everard smiled a genuinely happy smile for the first time since he was a small child as he approached the castle doors nearly a month after the murders. To evade suspicion, he agreed to avoid Evna until the chaos had settled. Overjoyed by the prospects of the future, he nearly skipped as he approached the guards at the front entrance to the palace.

"Will you please inform His Majesty that Everard has arrived to see him?"

The guards looked suspiciously at the man who so closely resembled their king in both name and likeness. After exchanging glances, the taller guard opened the door.

"Wait here."

Moments later, he emerged with an older, more elaborately decorated official who spoke to him, ushering him inside.

"Everard, the king has been anxiously awaiting your arrival! Please, follow me…"

Everard trailed the officer through the castle toward the huge blue and gold glass doors of the throne room. Inside, Evoldo sat high in his throne, a silent crowd of Evian elders surrounding him. All stared coldly at him as he entered. His heart pounded in anticipation; a smirk slid across his face as he bowed low before his father.

"Your Majesty." He rose, continuing. "I didn't expect such a large group to be present. I must say, I'm flattered by your consideration."

"It's customary to have all elders of Ev present at such a significant event, Everard."

He bowed once more, and as he rose, a glint of light blinded his eyes. He squinted; Evoldo was turning something in his hands. Patches of black blood crusted over the sharp steel of a knife. The color drained in his face; his heart stopped. The night of the transfer of the queen and children…he'd left his knife behind.

"Beautiful blade, isn't it? It seems one of the guards found it in some brambles out in the gardens. Looks as though it's been recently used, however. The gardens…isn't that where you used to work, Everard? Before you were imprisoned for contempt and the threat of the lives of my wife and son?" He cocked his head at Everard as he questioned him. "Isn't it ironic, also, that you were only recently released before they and the rest of my family were murdered?"

In shock, Everard mutely shook his head at Evoldo.

Evoldo frowned, still toying with the blade. "Not yours then? Hmm. Yes, I'm sure it probably wouldn't be. Someone who would commit such an atrocity as was witnessed in the kingdom last month would have to be a very sick, _sick_ person, don't you think? Probably one who endured some kind of bullying over a period of years, someone with a grudge, perhaps?" He laughed. "Really, what kind of a demented _bastard_ would do such a thing?"

Everard's eyes inflated. He bolted for the doors, but a line of armed guards was already steadfastly planted in front of them. Swinging around, he scrambled toward the other end of the room, hoping to smash through the stained glass windows as a means of escape, only to tumble into the mass of arms, cloaks, and swords that waited for him. Endless pairs of thick hands harnessed him from movement as Evoldo approached, still holding the knife.

"This blade more than likely pairs with a holster. Search him."

Three men in uniform simultaneously groped under his cloak and through his pockets and satchel until one yanked the leather holster from its place. He bowed, surrendering it to Evoldo, who approached the group, sliding the knife effortlessly into the holster and latching it in place. He handed it to the elders to inspect and turned back to Everard.

"Everard, you are not only guilty of the massacre of thirty five of my subjects, but you have committed a personal assault against me and the entire kingdom of Ev through the murder of my own wife and children. My men have been searching the woods for a month for their bodies, and I will personally see to it that you suffer tremendous anguish in prison for as long as it takes until they're found." He leaned in, continuing.

"And make no mistake; the only release you can hope for _this_ time is that of your soul from its agonized edifice at the end of lengthy, excruciating torture."

Everard began writhing, screaming and cursing midway through Evoldo's speech, only to be gagged by the guards and tied securely to a chair. Evoldo approached his prisoner who still struggled against his confinement, sweat glossing his scarred forehead. He breathed heavily through the gag as Evoldo lowered his face to him and whispered into his ear.

"Did you truly believe you could coerce _me_ into bargaining with you? I should have killed your whore mother while you were still in her diseased womb." He turned his back to Everard.

"Get him out of my sight."

Everard flew into a fit of rage, convulsing and screeching as he was dragged out of the palace, back toward the hell out of which he had only so recently departed. It took ten men to contain him; every ounce of his energy was flushed out in his fury, in trying to escape their grasp. When they reached the prison, they tossed him into the cold blackness of solitary internment where he lay motionless for the next day, completely drained of all hope. On the second day, a blinding light shot through the darkness, and a plate of stale gruel slid through a slot at the base of the door. Everard stirred, shielding his eyes. Too shattered to yell or weep, he curled into a sitting position against the wall, rubbing his arms and legs for warmth.

As he massaged his calves, he felt a small lump near his ankle. _No…no! It can't possibly be!_ A jolt of anticipation shot through him. Shaking, he lifted his pant leg and peeled the small leather satchel from inside. It contained the leftover body parts from the incantation he'd cast the month before to transfer the queen and young royals to the Nome King's mountain. From each corpse he had removed an ear, and it was into these that he trapped the souls of the murdered for his spell. There remained just enough left to get him out of the prison. The guards had taken everything he possessed on his person, and yet somehow overlooked this most precious of matter!

Everard covered his mouth as giggles morphed into deranged laughter. Two days later, the prison guards made the discovery that he had entirely disappeared from the premises.

#

Each day for the next two weeks, a villager of Evna was found murdered. Every corpse had something in common; a severed ear or tongue, a pulled tooth, or a finger hacked off. The killings started at the perimeter of the city, each day growing closer in proximity to the castle. With each murder, the community grew progressively more anxious. Villagers refused to leave their homes and children were locked inside, forbidden to go out and play. Every day, Evoldo was informed of yet another dead body found in the forests or river, some even discovered lying in their own beds at home. Despite his order for an increase in security throughout the city, the killings continued. No one was safe.

After the first week of unceasing bloodshed, Evoldo locked himself in his study. Villagers clamored outside the palace by day, demanding more protection and receiving no response; he understood that it would all soon be over, and that the Evians were not the true target. The thousand years of life granted him by the Nome King didn't account for murder.

With each passing day, Evoldo sat and stared out the window with one hand on his sword, gulping down pungent amber liquids and jumping at every creak, thud, and echo. Though guards were ordered to remain outside the doors at all times, slumber still evaded him. Brief naps always ended in nightmares; he frequently awoke screaming, the guards breaking down the door only to find him in a sweaty, sobbing pile on the floor.

It was night again; he hated nights. He sat alone in front of a blazing fireplace, a soothing liquid concoction gripped tightly in his hand. A loud knock sounded on the door. He jerked, spilling the drink onto his lap.

"Ack!" he spouted, shaking. He threw his voice toward the door.

"What do you want!?"

No sound came from outside.

"…Hello?"

Still no reply. Another loud pounding resonated from the locked door.

"Who is it?"

Trembling, he bent and reached both hands to the sword leaned against his chair. His eyes widened in terror as he lowered them to the handle of the door which began rattling fiercely. In a moment, a light _click _echoed off of the walls. His heart stumbled in his chest. He gripped his sword tighter, his hands sticky with sweat. A sliver of light pierced the dim room, gradually expanding as the door opened.

A black, wavy shadow lingered in the doorway. The light jingling of jewelry chimed as a woman stepped partway into the room. Her face became illuminated by the fire, its light bouncing off of glossy dark braids of hair. Her eyes were entirely black; like mirrors, they reflected the flickering movement of the flames from the fire. Her skin was pale, almost luminescent, and yards of scarlet and amethyst silk hung loosely on her body, hugging every curve. She remained there in silence, staring vacantly at Evoldo.

Panting, Evoldo grasped at his chest. Mopping perspiration off of his forehead with a shaky palm, he spun around to the liquor cabinet and poured another tumbler full of whiskey; the bottle of liquor trembled in his hand, clinking against the glass.

"You nearly scared the life out of me! Who gave you a key to this room? There was only one that I knew of...what are you doing here? I didn't send for anyone tonight…"

When he turned around, she was inches from his face. Startled again, he jumped back, yelping. The whisky flew from his cup, splashing onto his jacket.

"Damn you, woman!" Looking down at the jacket, he swiped at it as he continued. "Unless you have something of importance to do or say, get out!" As he finished his last word, he looked into her face, noticing her black eyes for the first time. Sucked into them, he was paralyzed, unable to look away. A strange haze fogged his mind. He spoke slowly, mesmerized.

"So unusual…your eyes…"

Still silent, the woman leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. Her scent was gripping, her lips as smooth as oil. Evoldo, still entranced, ran his hands along her waist and opened his mouth to hers. A sharp sting flared through his lower lip; hot blood trickled down his chin.

"Ah!" he shrieked, pulling back and touching the wound. She grabbed his face with one hand; black, bottomless eyes bore into him. He stared back; his mouth hung open, blood and saliva dripping together onto the floor. Gazing into her, his eyes grew dim and a purple shade seeped into them, replacing their natural color.

His glass shattered into millions of sparkling shards as it hit the floor. In the next second, he walked out of the door to his study, trailing behind yards of shining scarlet and amethyst silk. The guards outside the door were dead, lying on the ground with their throats slit. Evoldo stepped over them without notice, staring ahead at the woman who led him down the silent halls of the palace and out into the frosty night.

Absorbed, he trudged through glittering banks of snow nearly two miles away, pursuing her up to the rim of a cliff. He turned his back to the precipice, staring at her. The night was utterly silent; glistening flakes of snow began to float mutely around her. She broke the stillness, her voice like warm sugar.

"Evoldo, King of Ev…what will you do for me?"

His eyes still hazed and purple, he replied distantly, "Anything."

"And what will you give to me?"

Evoldo shook his head; the purple fog began to slowly lift. He looked at her again. She stood before him unchanged, yet he was sure he'd heard the voice of a man. He remembered her, but not how he had arrived at the cliff. Afraid, he replied.

"Anything…anything you want…." He looked around them at the snow, rubbing his shoulders against the chill of the night. He blinked; the fog in his brain cleared. His face twisted in confusion; Everard stood before him.

"Hello, father." Everard smiled through the flurry.

"Ev…Ev…" Evoldo was as a mouse before a snake; paralyzed by fright, unable to speak or move.

"Ev, Ev, Ev!" Everard howled with laughter. The snake slithered closer to its prey.

"What will you give me, father?"

"Anyth-thing! Any-thing! Please!" Evoldo stuttered.

"Anything?" Everard feigned a look of contemplation, rubbing his chin. "Hmm, anything…" After a moment, he continued.

"I know what I want. But you must promise to give it to me."

"Yes! Please, Everard! Anything! I'll give you anything!"

"I want you..."

Evoldo nodded desperately, waiting.

"Dead."

Everard's eyes pierced his father's as he shoved him full force off of the edge of the abyss. Evoldo screamed and thrashed as his body soared through the arctic air toward the devastating impact that split his body open on the ice of the waters below.

Walking back to the city, Everard stopped along the perimeter, looking down from higher ground. The castle windows blazed with the warmth of firelight and the streets, houses, and shops in the surrounding villages glowed softly under street lamps. He clasped his hands together, smiling widely.

"All this, just for me? Oh, thank you daddy!"

Chapter four

Nick Chopper entered the palace first, extending a shining arm behind him to shield his companions from any immediate danger. The main hall was dim and chilly; fine furnishings lay toppled over, many of them broken. Crooked tapestries hung tenuously by shreds on icy stone walls. Although dark, the hall was so huge and open that it didn't take long to assess that there was no immediate threat to the safety of the group. He took a step forward, ushering in the rest of the makeshift army.

"Stay alert." he whispered, stepping over fragments of rubble and scanning the towering walls. Evelyn placed a hand over her heart as she looked around at her home which now lay in shambles. Scarecrow spotted a pile of blood-splattered weapons behind a fallen bench.

"Nick…" Looking at his friend, he cocked his head to reference the treasure. Together they rummaged through the weapons, trading up from the ones they had brought. Nick selected two finely honed battle axes and immediately began testing them out, swinging them quickly up and over his head. Noticing that Dorothy was watching, he approached her, making silly faces and juggling them in the air before spinning around and catching them behind his back. Dorothy covered her mouth and giggled. Scarecrow rolled his eyes and, sliding two shining scimitars from within the heap, addressed his friend.

"One thing I love about you, Nick," He turned over the bench to conceal the weapons and walked over to Dorothy, handing her one of the blades. "You never pass up an opportunity for asininity."

Nick shrugged his shoulders and smirked, still swinging the axes around. Scarecrow looked to Evelyn, who was gaping in alarm at the little girl holding such a huge weapon. Laughing, he reassured her.

"It's okay, she knows how to use it." He patted Dorothy on the head and walked away, testing out his own weapon. Evelyn decided at that moment that there couldn't possibly be anything left to shock her about these two astonishing children.

"Wait." Ozma held out her hands. She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly, freezing her position.

"Someone's coming."

Seconds later, a muffled shout resonated from deep inside the palace; the rumbling of boots and armor commenced, growing louder as it approached the hall.

"It's the bad men…" Dorothy whispered, pulling on Scarecrow's sleeve.

Ozma shook her head, confused. "They're not bad men. Something's wrong…" Pressing her palms together, she pinched her eyes shut and grew silent.

"There they are!" A soldier appeared at the far end of the hall, shouting to the assembly behind him.

"What took you so long!?" Nick shouted back, casually stepping closer and still swinging his axes. The rest of the soldiers, about ten of them, soon appeared behind the first.

"Get the queen!" The first soldier barked.

Evelyn tilted her head slightly, squinting down the endless hall at the men who approached. She placed her hand on Scarecrow's shoulder.

"Those are our men…" she uttered. Her eyes widened. "They're soldiers of Ev!" A smile broke across her face and she began jogging toward them.

"Your Maj-es-ty! Stop!" Tik Tok stomped after her as fast as his hulking frame would allow. Evelyn turned around, puzzled by Tik Tok's response.

"No, you don't understand! They're my own men! They must have overpowered Everard!" She turned back around, a look of relief on her face, reaching with open arms to her rescuers. One of the men ran toward her, screaming and plunging a knife at her heart.

Evelyn's face twisted in horror as she looked into the eyes of her betrayer, then down at the knife. It stuck hard and fast into the chest of Scarecrow, who had thrown himself in front of her just as the soldier attacked. Still standing protectively in front of her, he punched the knife into his torso until it disappeared, rendering the soldier weaponless.

The sentinel gaped in shock at the strange man of straw. Quickly recovering, he screamed again as he attempted to shove past him to get to the queen. Evelyn gasped as Tik Tok yanked her backward by her arm, throwing her into a corner. Anchored to the ground before her, he began swinging his long copper arms around in a revolving motion at high speed, completely knocking out three of the men who lunged at her.

During all of this, Ozma remained motionless in the middle of the room, still with her hands pressed together and eyes closed. The two soldiers that attempted to slay her were jolted backward upon touching her by a flash of green light which sent them flying backward and falling unconscious to the floor.

Scarecrow struggled with the man who had stabbed him, tying him up with scraps of shredded tapestry. While doing so, another man hacked away at his neck with a sharp blade. After successfully immobilizing the first attacker, he stood up calmly and faced the second assailant, his head slightly slanted for his torn neck. He pushed his head on straight and, raising an eyebrow, sighed. The man's eyes inflated; he looked down at the weapon in his hand, attempting to ascertain why it had not been able to inflict harm.

"Honestly!" Scarecrow scoffed as he snatched the knife out of the hand of his distracted assailant. As he continued, he began stabbing himself in the chest purely for the pleasure of shock value. "These things just don't seem to work!" Spying a fallen chandelier, he cuffed the man in the temple and shoved him backward, causing him to collapse into it. He wasted no time hauling the chandelier upward by its pulley. By the time the man regained consciousness, he was dangling eighty feet in the air.

Dorothy had bested a particularly large combatant at the point of her scimitar, but relinquished its use upon seizing his weapon; all she needed now was to look at him. The two of them sat together on the chilly stone floor, staring into each other's eyes. The lion lay next to her, resting its tremendous head in her lap. The soldier grinned stupidly at Dorothy, thoroughly transfixed by her gaze.

Only three soldiers remained fighting. Up until that moment, Nick had amused himself by juggling all of them at once.

"I'm willing to share, if anyone's interested." he called out to the rest of the group, dodging a blow to the skull. No one responded.

Scarecrow straightened his crooked head onto his neck again, treading noiselessly across the room toward Dorothy. She sat wedged between two massive beasts, one wearing fur, the other, armor. Crouching, he scratched at the lion's back with one hand, keeping the other clasped onto his head. The lion nuzzled its snout against Dorothy's knee, stretching its body and mechanically raising a hind leg to scratch at the air.

"Dorothy, did you bring the needle and thread?"

Still staring into the eyes of her captive, Dorothy motioned to a small bag resting on the floor nearby. Scarecrow patted the lion on the rump before rising. He strolled over to the bag, scooped it up, and began rummaging through it.

"Anyone?" Nick called out through clanging weaponry, visibly annoyed. Still, no response from the others.

"Your Majesty, I hate to ask…" Scarecrow approached Evelyn with the needle.

"Certainly." Evelyn took the sewing gear and began carefully threading Scarecrow's neck on securely once more. Tik Tok continued to stand by as ordered, vigilantly monitoring his surroundings.

"Please, no one get up…" Nick grunted as he simultaneously swung an axe at one attacker and dodged another. During an extremely brief interlude between blows, he looked over at his companions, none of which were fighting. "Ugh!" He rolled his eyes. "Fine!"

He ducked out of the way, causing two of his assailants to hurl into one another. Spinning around, he grabbed the third opponent by his chain mail, dragged him to a thick wood table, and struck one of his axes through the mail deep into the wood, pinning him there permanently. As the remaining two approached, dizzy from their collision, Nick grabbed the shorter of them and pulled him against his chest, pressing the handle of his axe into his throat and restricting his airflow. He lifted the man into the air and swung him around, still with the axe handle against his throat, knocking his partner to the ground with his legs. Finally, the soldier passed out from oxygen deprivation and Nick tossed him aside, smirking cunningly at his remaining challenger.

"I know what's going on!" Ozma shouted abruptly, snapping out of her meditation. She turned toward the battle commencing between Nick and the last soldier. "Nick, don't hurt him!"

Taken by surprise, Nick gawked at Ozma.

"What!?"

The soldier, attempting to take advantage of Nick's distraction, hurled his sword at his head. Nick dropped to the floor and extended his leg, tripping his adversary and causing his weapon to fly across the room. He immediately gripped the man and held the blade of his axe against his throat.

"Stop!" Ozma cried, rushing over. Nick remained stationary, panting from exhaustion and still clutching the blade close to the man's neck. The rest of the group approached.

"Look at his eyes!" Ozma continued, pointing to Nick's prisoner. Everyone leaned in close. A deep amethyst color permeated the soldier's irises.

"I don't understand," Scarecrow said. "Plenty of beings have purple eyes."

"Not in Ev." Evelyn said, tilting closer toward the man.

"So what do we do with him?" Nick puffed, struggling to remain in control of his captive. Ozma bit her lip and squinted at the man, taking in a deep breath.

"Everaaaaard!" the soldier began screaming at the top of his lungs. Scarecrow immediately stuffed a piece of ragged tapestry into his mouth to muffle his cries.

"What's going on? I know this man; he's one of my most loyal soldiers! What's making him do this?"

"His mind is under someone else's control, Everard's, obviously…it's the same with the others." Ozma said. She shook her head. "I'm not sure what can be done. I wish Glinda were here…"

"You're an Aura! You've got to be able to do something!" Nick objected, still struggling against the strength of the soldier.

"Nick." Scarecrow looked sternly at him.

"An Aura of _OZ_." Ozma retorted.

Scarecrow placed his hands on Ozma's shoulders, looking into her porcelain face.

"Just do your best."

She sighed. "Alright, I'll try. Dorothy? Help me?"

Tik Tok grabbed the collar of the mesmerized man Dorothy had been preoccupying, though his stupor remained even after she left his side.

"Just hold your hand out like this…" Ozma straightened Dorothy's hand in front of her. She looked at her little friend pointedly. "Concentrate."

Dorothy unquestioningly clenched her eyes shut. Ozma cupped her hand over Dorothy's and closed her eyes. She whispered the word "OZ" under her breath repeatedly, then went completely silent.

After a moment, the soldier collapsed in Nick's arms. Evelyn rushed to him, taking his face in her hands. She peeled his lids back.

"His eyes are brown again!" she cried. Nick let out a theatrical gasp and fell backward, regaining his strength. The soldier looked up at his queen as if blinded by the sun. Blinking, he focused more intently on her face.

"Do you know me?" she asked, gazing into his face.

The man examined the beautiful face before him; immediately his eyes softened. "…Your Majesty!" he muttered. After a moment, however, his smile morphed into a trembling frown. His eyes flooded with tears and he began to shake uncontrollably. "Oh, no….oh, no! No!" He began weeping hysterically.

"Your Majesty?" A voice was heard over the sobbing. The group turned to see the man who was pinned to the table gaping in their direction. Not long after that, every conscious soldier in the room could be heard calling out to the queen and lamenting at the realization of all he had done. The noise in the room grew to a deafening level. Dorothy covered her ears and pressed her face into Scarecrow's chest.

Evelyn stood. "Quiet! All of you!" she shouted over the uproar. The clamor in the room quickly evaporated. She turned to her newfound friends. "Please, help me."

Rushing over to one of the men Scarecrow had tied up, she knelt to unbind him. Nick yanked the axe out of the table, freeing the pinned soldier. Scarecrow methodically lowered the pulley of the chandelier until it safely reached the ground.

Evelyn stood in the midst of her knights, who, not able to bear looking at her, scanned the floor with exhausted, teary eyes. Hesitating for a moment, she spoke, her voice rushing over the towering walls of the hall and echoing back into the eroded hearts of her soldiers.

"What you have done to my people, to your own loved ones, is such an incredible atrocity that I've scarcely been able to take it in," she began. "But I understand. Look at me, please." Reluctantly, the men glanced up at her with swollen, gutted eyes.

"I understand." she repeated. "I know it wasn't you who did these things, but another, Everard." The men's faces illuminated, remembering more from the haze of their controlled minds.

"I can't imagine your grief at this moment, but please, do what you can to correct this evil. Be _yourselves_ again, be _my warriors_, and make right what is left that can be made right. We'll all mourn together when this is over, but now you need to _get up_, take me to Everard, and prove to me that you're still my own!"

Still covered in tears, each man bowed face down on the floor before his ruler, praised her for her compassion, and stood again with renewed strength, ready to fight. The largest of the soldiers, the one Dorothy had subdued, led the way down the hall toward the massive arch in the rear that split off into the east wing where the throne room was located.

"Hey, by the way," Nick came up behind Scarecrow, resting a shining arm across his shoulders as they trekked the length of the hall. "Thanks for helping me out back there!"

"I thought you handled it quite well on your own; I probably would've only been in the way of your masculine axe-swinging, anyhow." Scarecrow smiled.

"One thing I love about you, Scarecrow; you never pass up an opportunity for condescension. See? I can use big words, too!"

"Bravo!"

"And I fully expect that in the future regaling of today's tale it not be excluded that I single handedly fought off the most men!"

"Duly noted, comrade! Duly noted!"

The voices of the two friends trailed off as they exited the hall and turned into the east wing with the rest of their party. They had only journeyed a few yards into the faction when a piercing uproar boomed from within the throne room. The group dashed down the length of the hall, drawing closer to the source of the commotion. Just as they approached the doors of the throne room, an end table hurtled through them, smashing into a wall and propelling a shimmering cloud of blue glass into the air. Immediately, the Evian soldiers crawled through the jagged opening the table had made and raced into the midst of the pandemonium. Cautiously, the rest of the party entered the room. Tik Tok emerged first, followed by Nick and Scarecrow, who shielded the girls and Evelyn from the mob. As they crossed the threshold, each one staggered back instinctively; the room was swarming with women and Evian guards.

"Can you see what's going on? Where's Everard? He's here, I know it…" Ozma craned her glance past Nick's arm in an attempt to see through the crowd. Seconds after stepping through the shattered glass doors, Evelyn broke through the shield of Ozian creatures, pressing her way into the throng.

"Your Majesty!" Scarecrow reached out for her, but it was too late. She had already disappeared into the sea of shouting Evians. Ozma and Dorothy were fast on her heels, immediately leaving the group to trail behind her.

"Girls! Wait!" Nick ran after them into the crowd, Scarecrow at his side.

"Don't let him get away!" One of the guards shouted, racing through the mass toward the center of the uproar. Hoards of women and Evian guards clamored over Everard, who had attempted to break through one of the upper stained glass windows to escape. Dozens of dirty hands grasped at his limbs and clothing, and in moments he was pinned against a wall, a pointed blade pressed close against his throat.

"Do it!" he shrieked, pressing his neck tighter against the knife despite the grip one of the women had on his thick hair. The crowd hushed, turning toward the flowing white robes that pressed through the sea of bodies. Evelyn made her way to where Everard stood, a collection of soldiers clanking loudly behind her. As she maneuvered through the throng, her subjects compressed themselves backward, making way. Wide eyed and breathless, not one was able to speak. Still holding tight to their prisoner, the small group restraining Everard also turned to look as their ruler came into view. A dainty white leather boot stepped out into the open.

"Everard." Evelyn stood before the crowd, her hair and coat drenched with melted snow. Her ice blue eyes smoldered through the murderer of her people.

The blood drained from Everard's face. His gaze darted to each of his distracted assailants, formulating a method of escape. In a second, he dropped to the floor, tripped the man with the knife, seized the weapon, and snatched the woman who earlier had been grasping his hair. Screams erupted from the mob as Everard pulled her tighter, clenching the blade hard against her throat.

"Get back! I'll slit her throat! I'll do it!" he screamed hoarsely, jerking his hostage backward along the length of a wall and edging closer toward the window from which he had earlier tried to flee.

Unwilling to allow another of her own to fall dead at the hands of Everard, Evelyn remained frozen in place along with her subjects.

_He's going to get away… _Her heart heaved in her chest. Her thoughts raced, attempting to put together some sort of plan, when a miniature hand slipped into her own. She looked down on her left side at Dorothy, whose voice remained unheard to the crowd, yet echoed sweetly in her own mind:

_Everything will be alright._

Dorothy smiled, again transferring to Evelyn a feeling of peace the way she had earlier outside the city gates. Evelyn's heart slowed; smiling back, she released Dorothy's hand, nodding in acknowledgment. Dorothy turned her gaze to Everard and paced confidently toward him. Ozma, Nick, and Scarecrow drew alongside Evelyn, watching calmly as the small child approached the criminal and his hostage.

Immediately upon locking eyes with the strange child, Everard's grip on his blade loosened slightly. Her presence seeped into him like water through cotton. Barely coming to the realization that she was hypnotizing him, he recoiled, squeezing his eyes shut. He wrenched the woman closer.

"Get back!"

Refusing to look in her direction, he stared at the floor, sweat trickling down his crumpled brow. His captive inhaled a shallow breath, desperately attempting to press herself away from the blade at her throat.

_Everard…_ Dorothy whispered telepathically into his mind. Her voice was like a rushing river, attempting to erode the hardness of his heart. His hand began to shake, nearly losing control of the weapon yet again. Pulling as hard as he could muster against her magnetic grip, he looked at her only long enough to hurl the dagger at her; the blade hummed and flipped across the distance between them, tearing straight toward her chest.

Dorothy shot her hand into the air, catching the handle of the blade with a sharp smack against her palm. Holding it out to her side, she dropped it to the floor. Everard, stunned and weaponless, shoved his hostage aside and charged toward the broken stained glass window at the other end of the room. The crowd once again flew into an uproar, clamoring after him. Everard grasped the edge of the window, pulling himself up into it. A flash of emerald green light circulated through the frame, jolting him backward into the crowd.

Nick patted Ozma on the back, silently congratulating her. They watched as the mob of Evians gathered Everard from his electrocuted stupor and dragged him to Evelyn's feet. Individual voices were inaudible; half of the crowd cried for joy upon seeing the queen they had given up for dead, while the other half screamed and shouted, demanding Everard's swift execution.

Evelyn raised her arms to the mob, quieting them. She stood without speaking, waiting for Everard to regain consciousness. His head drooped loosely toward the ground, hair dangling over his eyes. After a moment of coughing and sputtering, he began to giggle uncontrollably. Evelyn stepped forward, her damp coat dragging behind her.

"I want to see his face."

The guards grabbed his shoulders, yanking him to attention. He stared back at her with red eyes. A chill washed over her; as a man, he looked even more like Evoldo.

"Pity about your husband." his voice cracked. "Rumor has it he killed himself; just jumped right off of a cliff and splat!" He laughed. One of the guards dug his thumb into his shoulder, causing his knees to buckle under the pain. A sharp cry escaped his lips as he fell to the floor, the guards still holding fast to him.

Stooped along the ground, he continued. "It figures people would say that…" He looked up at Evelyn, still grimacing from the sting in his shoulder. "Credit has never been given me when due."

"What?" Evelyn whispered. Everard had killed Evoldo?

Everard began to laugh uncontrollably. Her stomach felt sick. She opened her mouth to speak, but realizing he deserved no words, she acknowledged the guards instead.

"Search him."

Combing through every inch of Everard's clothing, the soldiers retrieved nothing but the small satchel filled with body parts, which they immediately surrendered to her. She loosened the ties and pressed the opening wider with her slender fingers, peering inside. Crinkling her nose in disgust, she yanked the ties closed once again, thrusting the bag into the hands of one of the guards behind her.

"Burn it."

Again, she turned to face Everard, but acknowledged only the soldiers.

"Ten of you, take him to the prison; I'll send more later on to assist. I want guards on duty full time, both in and outside the tower. He's to be executed at dawn, under my personal supervision." The crowds shouted in approval.

"The rest of you…" She turned to the remainder of the guards in the crowded room. "Come outside with me; we're going to get our people."

Within the hour every citizen of Ev, both living and dead, had reentered the city. Families buried their loved ones in the snow next to piles of burned rubble which had once been called home. There, they would remain until spring when the ground would thaw and they could be properly laid to rest. The soldiers removed the speared heads from the gates and gathered the mutilated bodies which were strewn in the streets. Evelyn commanded that every person should make his residence in the palace until the city could be rebuilt. She stood outside the gates of Evna, the bitter wind chapping her face, until every last one of her people had returned home safely.

Inside the castle, Nick helped to build fires while Scarecrow assisted Evelyn in tending to those in need of medical attention. The children of Ev were fascinated by the girls and their odd companions; they ran through the hallways of the castle together, riding and chasing the lion and watching Tik Tok do tricks with his mechanical body. Every room of the palace was filled; improvised beds covered the floors and people bustled in and out of every room, tending to themselves and one another. The women whom Everard had held captive gathered food from his hoard and prepared a meal for the entire populace, at which Ozma and her friends were the guests of honor.

The banquet hall, although huge, could not accommodate the massive number of Evians who now called the palace home. The surplus of diners sat on the floor surrounding the table, spilling out into the hallways. Evelyn, barely having found time to wash and change into dry clothes before the meal, had dressed herself in a beautiful gown of deep blue taffeta. Evoldo's crown rested upon her head atop voluminous braids that shone like gold. Dorothy and Ozma sat on her right, Nick, Tik Tok, and Scarecrow at her left. Evelyn rose; the multitude followed suit, casting a short, rolling rumble through the room.

"Ev," her voice ricocheted off of the walls, reaching the ears of each Evian. She extended her arms to showcase the Ozians at her sides.

"Your saviors!"

Every knee in the room bent in honor of the Ozians. After a moment, Evelyn motioned to a servant who swiftly approached, holding a small box of carved silver. Evelyn took it and knelt before Ozma. Looking up at the child ruler, she held out the box, prompting her to receive it. Ozma reached out and gingerly placed her hands around the box. She turned to Scarecrow who nodded with a smile, reassuring her of the appropriateness of accepting the gift. Ozma lifted the pearl clasped lid of the box, revealing a large, glimmering emerald tucked snugly in felt lining.

"I understand that in OZ, emeralds are common things. But here in Ev, they're extremely rare and precious; this is the largest we possess. There is nothing we could ever do to repay you for what you've done…you and your friends, for no benefit of your own, have risked your lives to rescue my kingdom from complete destruction. We are forever indebted to you and to your country. Please, accept this gift as a symbol of our gratitude and allegiance to OZ."

Ozma ran her fingers over the shimmering green stone. She threw her arms around Evelyn's neck, whispering into her ear.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

Evelyn held her tightly, whispering back.

"Thank you."

That night, the people of Ev slept soundly.

#

"No! How could you have allowed this to happen!?"

Dorothy awoke to the sound of whispering voices echoing back and forth within the hallways outside the bedroom where she, Ozma, and the Princesses of Ev slept. Pressing her face against the cool smoothness of her pillowcase, she roused, increasingly attentive to the conversation outside the room.

A deep voice responded "I don't understand it; he disappeared entirely. Eight men were on watch outside the cell alone..."

"What are we to do? What if he comes back? How can we defend ourselves against him? We don't even understand this magic... I should have killed him myself the moment he was within arm's reach! Ozma can't stay here forever…what will I tell the people?"

Dorothy twisted under the sheets, turning to Ozma who slept soundly at her side. She reached out a hand, resting it on her shoulder and shaking back and forth.

"…Ozma…"

"Hmm?"

"Ozma…" She shook her again.

Ozma sat up in bed, half dazed and yawning. "What is it?" she began to question, but cut her sentence short upon hearing the panicked whispers of the queen leaking into the darkness of their room.

The carved white door to the princesses' bedroom groaned as the girls pressed it open. Scarecrow, being an immortal creature, never slept. He sat across the hall in a large chair, thumbing through a thick book. Responding to the noise, he looked up to see Dorothy and Ozma peeking out from the dimness of the doorway. Sighing, he closed the volume and rose from his seat. The girls slipped out into the candlelit hall, satin nightgowns sweeping along the marble floor. Scarecrow approached, one hand still clutching the book at his side, a finger wedged into the pages to save his place.

"I asked her not to wake you; you needed a good night's rest. Nothing much can be done at this hour anyhow." He raised the hand holding the book, gesturing to where the long hallway turned and lead toward Evelyn's bedroom.

The threesome glided down the flame lit hallway, the distressed whispers growing ever louder as they approached. Rounding the turn at the end of the hall, they found Evelyn and Thomas, her newly appointed captain, standing together and looking down at a table. Evelyn's gaze jerked upward as the group of Ozians slipped into view. Her eyes were bloodshot; puffy red marks streaked her face where tears had run. Stepping back from the table, she gestured to a pile of headless rats atop it, and looking at Ozma, shrugged her shoulders helplessly.

"What a ruler I'll make; in need of a child queen to protect my people, as I'm not capable of it myself."

Thomas cleared his throat. "Your Highness," he began, speaking to Ozma. "These rats…we found them headless in a pile in Everard's cell. I can only conclude that this has everything to do with his source of power. Considering the bag of –parts– from before, it makes sense." Evelyn stood by silently, lost in thought. She pressed a trembling hand against her lips.

"He'll come back…" she whispered anxiously, nodding almost hysterically in agreement with her own statement. "He will." Looking down at Ozma, she continued.

"All in one day's time…" She laughed under her breath. "In one day, my world has changed so drastically. My husband is dead, my people are murdered, my entire kingdom is hanging by a thread, and now Everard is gone. I'm trying," Her voice hitched. "I'm trying so hard to be strong, like you, Ozma. I don't know what will happen to us all…"

Ozma stared piteously at Evelyn, pursing her lips. A brief moment passed before her eyes flashed alight and she turned, running back down the hall toward the room where she had been sleeping soundly only moments before. In half a minute she returned, breathless from running, the sparkling emerald gift closed tightly in her fist. She approached the queen, whose back was turned to the rest of the party.

Ozma reached her grasp to Evelyn's arm and squeezed softly. Evelyn placed her hand over Ozma's and turned to see the sweet girl smiling up at her. She knelt before the child, her blue nightgown puffing up around her. Smiling back at her young friend, a hot tear spilled down her face and dripped onto the floor.

Ozma took Evelyn's hand and placed the emerald in the center of her palm. The stone glittered, reflecting the light from the sconces that lined the hall. Evelyn stared at the stone, then back up at Ozma, her expression confused. Ozma clasped her hand over Evelyn's, nestling the emerald between each of their palms.

"Evelyn, Queen of Ev," she began, "As the Living Spirit of OZ, I swear to you that as long as one like me lives, Everard will hold no power to harm another soul, not by his own ability, nor through the help of another. As long as an Aura lives, it is my most solemn promise that you and your people will be protected as my own."

Evelyn, still confused, turned her gaze to Scarecrow who, smiling proudly at his queen, acknowledged Evelyn's uncertainty regarding the promise which had just been made.

"It's an Aurian covenant, Your Majesty. She's chosen your emerald as her symbol of power. Everard will never be able to return to Ev nor harm another living soul; not as long as she or any other Aura lives."

Evelyn searched the face of her redeemer. "Is this true?" Her chest rose and fell with abated breath. Still kneeling, she pulled Ozma close and kissed her head. The young girl's hair was soon marinated in royal Evian tears.

"My dear child," Evelyn whispered. "My dear child…thank you…thank you."

Early the next morning, the entire populace of Ev gathered around the sleigh containing their departing Ozian friends. Evelyn tucked a thick fur blanket around Dorothy and Ozma, who were cuddled in the back of the sleigh beside the lion. Scarecrow, Nick, and Tik Tok sat at the front, Nick holding the reins. Evelyn graced each of her heroes with a kiss on the forehead.

"Promise you'll all come back again." Stepping back, she smiled warmly, pulling her arms around her against the frosty air.

Nick cracked the reins and the sled jerked to speed. Evian children ran alongside for as long as they could keep pace, laughing and waving. Dorothy and Ozma turned around, waving and shouting last minute goodbyes to the people.

Scarecrow, also turning to wave, gazed at his queen with pride. Though she hadn't been an Aura long, Ozma fully understood the result of an oath the likes of which she had made; it would cut a small number of years off of her life, as her powers were now divided. Evelyn had not been informed of this; it would only cause feelings of guilt. As Scarecrow admired his child queen, he surmised to himself that she truly was a savior, and would no doubt remain so among the people of Ev and OZ far beyond her living years.

Chapter five

In the land of OZ, west of the Emerald City, the chateau of Nicholas Chopper stood in magnificent grandeur, reflecting off of it the rays of the setting suns. Nick, charmingly narcissistic as he was, had ordered his domicile to be encased entirely in tin, which was polished on a weekly basis in order to replicate the sheen of his own lustrous physique. Miles of rolling, golden plains surrounded the estate; field mice scampered through the hills, preparing to huddle into their underground beds for the night. Melting into the horizon, the suns cast a wash of gold, pink, and purple across the vast western sky, and the first clusters of twinkling night stars began to claim their place across the growing blackness of the heavens.

Deep within the east wing of the stately home, Scarecrow and Nick sat together in the library, nursing cognac and holding casual conversation. They sat near a crackling fire, yet far enough away to ensure Scarecrow's comfort. Though one was made of tin and the other of straw, they both appeared completely human in every other respect. Nick more so than Scarecrow, for he truly was human, and was fashioned in every way as would be a human man; he thought, felt, slept, ate, and loved as any human would, and possessed every organ and tissue needed to sustain a human body; even the blood in his veins was liquid tin.

Long ago, Nicholas Chopper had a body of flesh and lived in the Black Forests of OZ, making a modest living as a woodsman. As a young man, he had fallen in love with a beautiful woman whom he intended to marry. Her father, being steadfastly against the union of his daughter to a humble woodsman, hired an evil witch to prevent the marriage. The witch enchanted his axe, causing him to cut off his every extremity. As he lay dying, a good witch discovered him and brought him to a nearby tinsman, who helped her to rebuild his body.

She placed his spirit in the new structure of tin before it could leave the dying, bloodied flesh she found lying in the woods. Nick's spirit survived in its new home, but the loss of a heart made him an immortal creature, incapable of both death and love. His lover, heartbroken at his loss of feeling for her, threw herself into a deep, raging river, and drowned. Upon meeting Dorothy Gale, Nick accompanied her, along with Scarecrow and a lion they had stumbled upon in the woods and adopted as a pet, to the Emerald City. There, he asked the Wizard of OZ for a heart.

Upon receiving his wish, a flood of emotion overcame him, as he was finally able to absorb the disturbing impact of all that had transpired. Though he strove very diligently to maintain an outward appearance of gaiety, the loss of his true love left his soul eternally tortured. Now possessing a heart, he was once again human, though only partially; because of his newly acquired tin body, he would live a life significantly longer than that of his fellow humans. Even with so many years added onto his life, he knew in his heart he would live out the rest of his days a bachelor, and so he made the best of it by being entirely flirtatious and carefree, knowing none of it to matter at all if he couldn't be with his only love.

Though Scarecrow's exterior was also formed to look in nearly every way like a human man, he was not at all mortal. His organs and inner workings were made of straw, packed tightly in a human skin simulated exterior of cloth. He could eat or drink if he chose to, but it made no difference to his immortal body. Though he was capable of thought, friendship, and kindness, love and death evaded him. His face was long, his features sharp; every detail of his form matched that of a human, and if one were not standing too near, human is what he appeared to be. The irises of his eyes were sewn with light, dusty apple green thread, and his golden amber hairs of straw were tousled handsomely into place.

He first met Nick along the brick road leading to the Emerald City, where he had been traveling with Dorothy Gale to ask the ruler there, a powerful man known only as The Wizard, for a brain. The two became instant friends, and although conversations sometimes proved difficult to navigate due to Scarecrow's newly gained intelligence, the two generally found the company and conversation of one another to be both stimulating and comforting.

In recent days, the dialogue between the pair had morphed ever increasingly from their usual joviality into hollow small talk. Worry slowly crept into each of their lives, and the heaviness of it clung to nearly everything they did. Each man was distracted by his own anxiety, and losing themselves in thought became increasingly common.

Nick, tracing a shining finger along the rim of his glass of cognac, mouthed words describing the current state of his mundane daily affairs. Scarecrow, staring into the fire, managed to eject responses of acknowledgment from his lips, though seconds later he could scarcely remember what they had been discussing. Neither man had the emotional strength to speak aloud regarding the source of his angst, nor was it necessary, for each of them could read the other plainly, and each endured the same pain. This particular evening, the vapid conversation between the two gentlemen had endured for only a short while when a sharp pounding sounded at the library doors.

Nick nearly stumbled to the floor as he shot out of his seat in alarm, his heart hammering in his chest. Scarecrow was fast behind him, eyeing the doors in trepidation. Only one class of caller was possible at this hour. Nick hesitated for a moment and considered refusing the envoy; perhaps the message would no longer exist if it couldn't be delivered?

"…Come in."

One of the doors to the library cracked open, and a pair of dark green boots clomped inside. Captain Alfred Miles, also known as the Green Whiskered Soldier, marched across the glossy marble floors, his weaponry clanging as he approached the two friends. Nick and Scarecrow gaped helplessly at the messenger, waiting to hear words already anticipated. The soldier bowed low, and as he rose, he spoke.

"Her Majesty is requesting your immediate presence at the palace. You are to return with me without delay…your car is waiting outside."

The night was now black and cool; three round, heavy moons rose high into the heavens, casting pools of light over the roads as the car sped toward Emerald City. Scarecrow stared numbly out the window at dark masses of trees which flew past at rapid speeds. Sparks of moonlight flashed across Nick's face as the car shot in and out of clusters of vegetation. Leaning forward, he pressed his head into his hands, burying his face in darkness. After a moment, he breathed out harshly into his palms, and, lifting them only enough to prevent his voice from being muffled, quaked out.

"My heart can't take it, Scarecrow."

Scarecrow gripped Nick's shoulder and returned his glance to the shadowy scenery racing past outside the car window. The ground was like a massive black tablecloth being quickly pulled off a surface, dragging with it the mountains, trees, and buildings which rested upon it. Soon the movement would cease, and everything would be fallen and shattered around him. Nick remained hunched over, his face buried in his shining hands. A tear of liquid tin slid along the length of his palm, splattering onto the upholstery.

The driver took the back roads through Emerald City toward the palace; the sighting of a royal car racing through the metropolis at this hour would only incite panic, as the citizens of OZ were already painfully aware of the precarious state of their beloved queen. Finally, after what felt like hours of travel, the tires of the glossy black automobile crunched over the long cobblestone road leading to the rear entrance of the palace. Both men's gaze averted to the glowing emerald fortress which grew ever larger and more imposing as they approached.

Even from behind, the royal palace of OZ was positively arresting. In the light of day it appeared large, but shrouded in the darkness of night, with beams of light illuminating every wall and column, it was monstrous. Towering pillars gilded in gold complimented the deep emerald walls behind them. Each window extended to lofty heights, rounded at the tops and gilded in gold leaf trimmings of images of faces, flowers, and animals.

As the car slowed, the doors on each of its sides flew open; Nick and Scarecrow dashed from the belly of the vehicle and into the blush of soft emerald light that pooled around the palace. A manservant had already been waiting by the entrance for their arrival, and had scarcely been able to open the door a few inches before they rushed past him, shoving the door further open and nearly knocking him over. Ignoring the direction of the servant whose intention was to escort them to where their queen lay dying, the men immediately dashed through the lengthy halls toward her bedroom. After rushing down an impossibly long corridor, they eventually slid into the opening of the west wing. Sitting on a bench next to the door of Ozma's room, a figure in a deep cerulean robe stood and began floating toward them.

"Glinda," Nick breathed.

Glinda the Good, usually a vision of perfection, embraced the pair with disheveled hair and a face streaked black from running mascara. Taking a step back, she looked into their faces. Her eyes were raw.

"She's been waiting for you, Scarecrow. She refused to see anyone until you arrived. I don't..." pressing her hand to her forehead, more hot tears ran the length of her face. "I don't know how much longer we'll have with her…hurry…"

Glinda hastily turned toward the doors, gesturing for her friends to follow. She pulled on the door, extending her arm to Scarecrow who crossed the threshold first. It had been several decades since he had last entered this room. He began to consider precisely when the last time had been…he couldn't recall. All he could manage to conjure were images of a young Ozma, kicking excitedly at the covers as he, Nick and Glinda regaled her with tales of wondrous adventures, some true, some made up, just before turning out the lights for bed and wishing her a good night's rest.

Though moonlight already illuminated the room, several large flickering candles added to the glow. Scarecrow walked toward the giant four poster bed in the corner, making out the form of that same girl who used to kick excitedly at the covers…in this same bed…As he stepped nearer, a large panel of emerald green silk from the bedpost flowed upward, riding on the current of the breeze from the open window and blocking his path. The cool silkiness of the fabric grazed his face, and for the briefest moment, he allowed his mind to wander to a time, many years ago, when he watched Ozma and Nick playing together in the countryside. Ozma was wearing a dress of similar deep emerald silk; she and Nick ran and jumped through the fields near Lake Quad, laughing and eventually falling to the ground, hidden behind the tall, wild grass that rippled in the breeze.

Regaining his composure, he brushed the fabric against the current which moved it to life, clearing his path. Queen Ozma, righteous and beloved ruler of OZ, lay on the bed, a tenuous feather stuck to sweat soaked sheets. Were it not for the slow, struggled heaving of her chest, he might have thought himself too late. She sat upright, leaning against a mountain of pillows. Her aged body appeared paralyzed; white, tissue thin skin clung to bones as a crumpled blanket, smothering the blue and purple veins in the arms that rested motionless at her sides. Her eyes rested shut, fluttering behind sagging lids.

Nick and Glinda slipped into the room behind him, the giant door booming to a close and snuffing out the intruding slice of light from the outside hall. Scarecrow seated himself in the empty chair placed alongside the bed, scraped it closer, and, pressing his elbows into the spongy mattress, gathered Ozma's wrinkled hand into his own.

Ancient eyelids, soft and worn as an old paper napkin, flickered open, exposing the same sharp amber irises as the girl who laughed and jumped through Scarecrow's memory only a moment ago. She smiled.

"Scarecrow."

Words were difficult for her to eject. She had lived an extraordinarily long life for that of a human, so much so that her subjects were beginning to jest that she may very well live forever. Her old age was surprising to her friends, as they knew that her life should have been shortened by her covenant with Ev. They couldn't help but sometimes wonder how long she might have been around otherwise. Dearly loved as she was by the people, quips of her invincibility were far preferred over acceptance of the reality that she could not and would not live forever. Ozma never married, so her lineage would die with her. The older she became, the realization that their fear would inevitably be realized grew ever stronger.

Though old, Ozma had always been strong; it was only in recent months that she began to fall ill. Doctors and wizards were summoned from every corner of OZ, but each bore the same disheartening truth: the queen was aged, her body no longer capable of fighting sickness. Potions and tonics delayed the inevitable by perhaps a few days, but were otherwise useless. Nearly a week previously, Ozma ordered all treatments to cease and commanded that her loved ones leave the palace. She was insistent that she not be mourned before her passing, and promised she would summon them when the time came for her to depart. Even Scarecrow, who served as Ozma's adviser and lived in the palace, was requested to leave. He spent the first two days in his tower, thinking and staring out the window at the palace which stood only half a mile away. After going nearly mad with his own thoughts, he made the hour long journey to Nick's chateau where the pair remained together, taking solace in their shared angst until they would be summoned.

Ozma inhaled harshly, gasping for air with wide eyes. Scarecrow held her shoulders as she leaned forward, breathing in so very hard, yet drawing in so little air. He was startled by the feel of her emaciated body. Eventually, her breathing returned to its regular cycle of struggled panting. He adjusted a pillow behind her back.

"Scarecrow," she repeated. Leaning back into the puffy feather clouds behind her, she grasped for his hands.

"I'm here, Ozma…" he affirmed, taking her hands back into his own.

She began to whisper, breathing harshly between words. He leaned closer, determined to absorb every syllable of her last words. She slurred, further aggravating his attempts at understanding.

"Get Dorothy…"

_Get Dorothy?_ There had been only one Dorothy Scarecrow had ever known: Dorothy Gale. Considered a hero to all Ozians, the small child single handedly destroyed the only two serious threats to the security of the land of OZ: the witches of the east and west. Scarecrow frequently meditated on what his own existence would be like had he never met the extraordinary girl…he would never have received brains from the Wizard, Ozma would never have been restored to her throne, and Nick would still be without the heart that made him human.

"I don't understand." He squinted.

"Please get...Dorothy."

"Dorothy Gale? Our Dorothy?"

"Yes," Ozma struggled with each word, gasping for air between utterances. He felt badly for making her repeat herself, but he still didn't understand. Ozma had miraculously lived to be one hundred and two years old, and Dorothy had been only a few years younger; even if she were still alive, how would he find her? She'd chosen to return home nearly ninety years ago, knowing there may be never be a way to return.

"Why, Ozma? Why do you want me to find her?"

"He'll kill her," she slurred out as quickly as possible, attempting to eject the sentence in one short breath.

"Who?" Entirely confused, Scarecrow's mind raced helplessly. "Who would want to kill Dorothy? …Ozma?"

She shook her head, mumbling. Her eyes averted behind Scarecrow, and as she spotted Nick and Glinda spying silently on the scene before them, her lips quivered into a smile; tears flooded her eyes.

"Friends..." she gasped. "Nick…" She struggled to sit up straighter against the folds of blankets beneath her. The pair rushed forward to assist. Once comfortable, Ozma took Glinda's hand and nodded.

Without speaking, Glinda dashed to a servant holding a large box at the end of the room. Rushing back to the bed, she stopped next to Nick and Scarecrow, standing noiselessly with the box pressed against her torso. She looked again to Ozma for direction; she nodded once more. Glinda turned to the servant at the door.

"Let them in."

The manservant pulled both double doors open at once, flooding the room with light from the hall. Within seconds, the brightness was blocked by dozens of shadows crowding together through the entrance. All of the highest nobility of OZ had been summoned, apparently at the same time as were Nick and Scarecrow, as they had not seen anyone when they arrived. The once silent room now echoed with the shuffling of feet and dresses, and with the muffled sobs of those who couldn't contain their grief. Glinda approached the bed, kneeled, and opened the box, holding it up to Ozma's reach.

Shakily, Ozma lifted her shining crown from the box. Ancient, knobby fingers grasped at the solid gold coronet encrusted with emeralds and diamonds. She turned her gaze to Scarecrow.

"Kneel…"

Moments such as this caused Scarecrow to praise the spirits for his body of straw; had he been a man of flesh, he may have fainted. Wide eyed, he looked at those around him who silently returned his stare. Dazed, he realized he didn't know how long he had been standing there gaping, and immediately complied, kneeling before the bed. Ozma's fingers felt nearly as cold as the metal crown she clasped. With great struggle, she fitted it onto his head and, gasping, fell back against the heap of pillows. He turned to Nick and Glinda, hoping for some sort of reassurance that this was intentional and Ozma had not gone mad from her illness; both were entirely fixated on their dying friend.

He stared fixedly at the clear streams of liquid on their faces, wishing he also had a way to express…whatever it was he was feeling. Being immortal and without a heart, he was incapable of love or grief and frequently thought of what the emotions must be like to experience.

"Scarecrow," Ozma's voice grew weaker between labored breaths. "Please…please get Dorothy. Bring her…home. Protect her…please."

Thoroughly confused and frustrated at Ozma's request, he thought it best to simply honor her and, as difficult as it would be, to think on it later.

"I'll protect her Ozma, I promise."

She smiled briefly, contented by Scarecrow's pledge. For the first time since they had arrived, she looked at ease. Her golden eyes flashed contentedly back and forth between Glinda, Nick, and Scarecrow.

"I love you." she breathed.

Over the next minute, the space between each labored breath increased until eventually they ceased altogether, the silence in the room suffocating the sound of the final, fragile gasp.

Chapter six

A multitude of creatures gathered in the vast, lush courtyard of the Emerald Palace. Farmers, Munchkins, servants, wizards, witches, and dignitaries from all across the land of OZ assembled to mourn the loss of the great Ozma. A crowd of such magnitude should normally have created a roar of voices, yet the entirety of the grounds was eerily silent, with the exception of the stifled weeping of a few. Soft, sweet smelling pink and white gardenia petals flowed through the air on currents which wafted through the trees, raising and lowering their branches like waves in the ocean. It was a clear, warm day; the three suns washed the earth with heat, illuminating each despondent face in the multitude.

Out of a high window in the east wing of the palace, Nick observed as the mass of mourners flowed into the courtyard. From this height, they appeared to him a faceless deluge of black clothing, pouring into the space like a dark, foreboding cloud. His heart heavy and numb, he turned to Scarecrow, who stood in front of a floor length mirror, blankly staring into the glass as he fastened his tie. Nick pressed himself away from the wall upon which he had been leaning and approached his friend.

"Ready?"

Scarecrow nodded silently, turning his gaze to the floor and slipping his hands into the pockets of his suit pants.

The pair squinted as they emerged from the shadowy coolness of the palace and began to descend the polished emerald steps leading down to the courtyard. It had been only two days since Ozma had passed and the entire land of OZ was already abuzz with hearsay that Scarecrow was to regain the throne. As they trekked the length of the grassy courtyard, making their way to the funeral sight, Scarecrow felt stares from the multitude burning through him, measuring him against she who was, in their opinion, immeasurable. Before he and Nick reached their seats, heated shouts broke out from the black cloud of mourners behind them. Scarecrow jogged through the warm grass, pressing into the crowd.

"I only came to pay my respects! I don't practice witchcraft anymore. Please, let me pass…" The witch Mombi, old and hunchbacked, grasped her purse to her black clothed chest, fearfully leaning away from the mob.

A woman from the crowd picked up a nearby chunk of limestone and hissed back, "How dare you show your face here! Get out!" She hurled the stone toward the old woman just as Scarecrow approached from the side, blocking the blow. The rock tore at his jacket, creating a ragged slash dusted with limestone powder. The woman took a step back, her eyes widening at the new king's surprise manifestation. Facing the crowd, he spread his arm as a protective wing in front of Mombi and took a step forward.

"What's wrong with all of you!?" His usually smooth and tepid voice barked at the crowd, shredding against their unceasing cries.

"She doesn't belong here, Scarecrow! You know the abuse she inflicted on Ozma. She has no right! She has no respect to pay!" A man came forward, his face red from anger and the growing heat of the day. "Think of what she's done!" The shouts from the crowd picked up again. Scarecrow's body trembled with anger.

"I'm not concerned with what Mombi's done! My concern is what _Ozma_ has done!" The crowd stared back, wide eyed and motionless. Scarecrow rarely exhibited such a fierce display of emotion; they were dumbfounded to silence. He continued.

"Ozma forgave Mombi, and rather than choosing bitterness, she centered her energy on serving each of you until her last breath! And now what? You say you're concerned that she receives respect? So give it, before I have you all removed!" By now, Nick had planted himself firmly at Scarecrow's side, the staggered crowd reflecting off of his freshly-polished face. Still livid, Scarecrow tramped back through the field to his seat at the head of the service site.

Unsure of whether or not to speak, Nick assessed the sea of speechless faces floating on waves of black textile and determined it best to leave things as they were. Displaying his solidarity with Scarecrow, he took Mombi gently by the elbow and led her slow, hobbling form to a chair in one of the back strings of seats before returning to his place next to Glinda in the front row.

Minutes later, the memorial service commenced. Scarecrow felt the hot, angry stares of his freshly allocated subjects blazing into the back of his head. As the orator droned on, he fixed his gaze to the rectangular box on the podium, measuring himself against the Immesurable, and finding himself wanting.

#

"This feels wrong," Scarecrow ejected behind his shoulder to Glinda as tailors fussed over the hems and buttons on his coronation ensemble. He stood on a raised platform, a partial hexagon of mirrors reflecting his every angle. "The people don't want me as king. I've already failed them once; why would they trust me again? What was Ozma thinking?"

"_Your queen_ was thinking of the best interests of her people." Glinda approached from behind, examining his reflection. She selected a shiny black lint brush from a nearby table and swept at his shoulder, tilting her head from side to side as she cleared the fabric from imperceptible imperfections. She remembered well the failure of which he spoke; the subject of his short-lived rule remained a permanent source of embarrassment for him. Considering her next words carefully, she continued.

"You made a mistake in your first rule, yes. But what came of it? Ozma was restored to her people, and OZ has never been more prosperous since. You gave up the throne for the rightful heir; the people recognize your honor in that. They know of your intelligence and capability; Ozma entrusted_ you_ as her advisor for those very reasons. You're a good man, Scarecrow. The Ozians already know that."

"I'm no man…" He fixed his gaze downward at straw stuffed hands.

Glinda sighed, having run out of consolation. The loss of Ozma had been tremendous for all of OZ, particularly for those close to her. Scarecrow had been her father, brother, friend and son, all in one. Examining him in the mirror, she wondered how an Immortal would or could process the death of a loved one. He played such a close role in Ozma's life, yet he had no heart, and was therefore incapable of loving or mourning her.

"This is a significant change for all of us; I knew Ozma as well as you. She ruled this land with such integrity and strength…until the end, above all, she thought of her people. And the last thing she did was choose you."

Hands shoved deep into his pockets, he looked up at Glinda's timeworn face through the reflection in the glass. Just as a courteous half smile graced his face, a knock sounded at the door.

"Your Majesty…." Scarecrow turned for Ozma, then remembered her absence. 'Your Majesty' would from now on mean himself.

"Your Majesty," the man repeated. "They're ready for you."

Attempting to be a comfort, Glinda smiled and squeezed Scarecrow's coronation decorated arm. "Everything will fine. You'll be wonderful."

He let out a hard breath and placed his hand over hers. "Thanks."

In the Great Hall of the Emerald Palace, nobility and dignitaries from every corner of OZ gathered to witness the crowning of their new king. Sixteen giant marble archways lined each side of the opulent room, and above each were second, smaller archways gilded in gold that housed white marble effigies of past Auras. At the head of the room, four mammoth emerald columns gilded in gold flora stretched high into lofty ceilings above. Sparkling crystal and gold chandeliers created a dazzling canopy over the entire spectacle. At the base of the monstrous emerald pillars, Scarecrow knelt before the Duke of Kereteria, whose shaky voice ricocheted off of columns and walls, spreading through the length of the Hall.

The Duke, a wrinkled, half deaf old man almost twenty years younger than Ozma, had served as Lord of the High Council of OZ for the last fifty years. Shaky, liver-spotted hands knotted with arthritis gripped the edges of an emerald robe trimmed with thick cords of gold and ruby thread. The Duke thrust the robe into the air, swinging it behind Scarecrow and allowing the fabric to float downward, resting on his shoulders. He instructed Scarecrow to stand and take his place on the throne.

Scarecrow, though a naturally serious creature with a penchant for formality and tradition, found himself both nervous and uncomfortable perched in Ozma's throne. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat as Nick, his newly appointed advisor, approached and stood at his side. The Duke shuffled to a table behind the throne and reappeared with Ozma's crown in hand. The stones in the coronet glistened in the Duke's rickety grasp. He approached Scarecrow, stopping in front of him.

"Scarecrow," his voice thundered again through the Hall. "Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the peoples of the land of OZ according to its respective laws and customs?"

Attempting to muster a tone of confidence, he boomed back. "I solemnly promise so to do."

"And will you, in your power, cause law and justice to be executed in all your judgments?"

"I will."

Scarecrow closed his eyes against the cold metal of the crown placed over his brow. The sound of Nick's footsteps tapped closer, and he opened his eyes to see his dear friend kneeling before him, his head bowed low. The Duke's quaking voice continued on.

"Nicholas Chopper, Emperor of the West Lands and anointed advisor to the King of OZ, speak your fealty."

Nick, maintaining his genuflection, raised his glance. "I, Nicholas Chopper, will be faithful and true, and faith and truth will I bear until you, our Sovereign King, and unto your heirs and successors. On this day I become your liege man of life and limb…"

As Scarecrow heard the words of his closest comrade, he took comfort in knowing them to be genuine, and even so, before he had ever been king. As uncertain as his future was, he took solace in the friendship he had with Nick, and in knowing that no matter what may come, there would always be one in whom he could trust.

"…and my fealty I do bear unto you, to live and die, against all manner of folks. May the Spirits help me."

Finishing his part, Nick placed an emerald band on Scarecrow's middle finger, representing the marriage between himself and the people of OZ. He rose, standing at Scarecrow's side. The Duke motioned for all to stand. A rumble resonated throughout the Hall as hundreds of bodies rose from their seats.

"OZ," the Duke echoed, motioning to Scarecrow who remained seated on the throne to his left. " I present to you Scarecrow, your Sovereign Lord and King!"

"Long live the king!" the crowd shouted in unison.

Scarecrow's stomach flipped. This cry of fealty had reminded him; he would indeed live long…as an immortal creature, he would live forever. His breathing grew shallow, and suddenly the crown on his brow felt overwhelmingly heavy.

Upon escaping the Great Hall, Scarecrow hurried along the marble corridors of the palace, attempting to evade the horde of Ozians that would soon be emerging afterward. Nick and Glinda, witnessing his hasty exit, were fast behind him.

Ducking into the library, he jerked the crown from his head and threw himself into a chair. The room was huge, and without a fire, it was freezing. Towering carved wood bookcases had been built into every wall. During Ozma's rule, he spent days on end hidden amongst the stacks of books, pawing through pages of Chaucer, Swift, Shakespeare, More, and Milton; all books The Wizard had abandoned in his sudden departure. Hunched over in his coronation attire which was loaded with pins, tassels, and badges, he smoothed his hair and stared down at the crown, turning it in his hands. He jumped at the door cracking open behind him, and slacked once again upon seeing Glinda and Nick enter.

"Hey, Your Majesty," Nick jested, dropping into a chair beside him. "The banquet hall is on the _other _side of the palace." He slapped Scarecrow's knee and stood again. "Let's go." Scarecrow placed the crown on the table in front of him and leaned back in the chair, breathing into his hands. He shook his head.

"I can't do it."

Nick and Glinda exchanged glances.

"Sure you can," Nick started, hoping a little lightness would calm his friend's nerves. He picked up the crown, pressed it onto Scarecrow's head, and pulled at his arm. "You just need someone to show you the way! Glinda, get the door, would you? This gentleman has a walnut quiche and a brandy with his name on it!" Scarecrow jerked his arm out of Nick's grasp, pulling the crown off again.

"I mean it Nick; I can't do this. I can't be King of OZ."

Realizing his seriousness, Nick knelt in front of the chair, resting his hands on its arms.

"Yes, you can. You just did, remember? Five minutes ago? In a room full of Ozians? You _are_ king. And as your advisor; my first order of business shall be to advise you to get yourself down to the banquet hall before your quiche gets cold and your brandy stale!"

Ignoring Nick's comment, Scarecrow started again, this time more panicked. "I'm never going to die, Nick! Do you understand what that means? I'm going to be King of OZ _forever_! I can't handle that; I'll go mad! Who would want a Scarecrow for a king, let alone a Scarecrow for a king for eternity!? I wasn't made for this! I couldn't handle this land for two months before a band of _girls_ destroyed me!" He jumped out of the chair, shoved past Nick, and began pacing the floor, the polished crown still grasped limply in his hand. "They need someone stronger, more capable, more powerful, not a stuffed…_thing._ What have I done? I should have refused Ozma…"

"Scarecrow," Glinda interjected for the first time since entering the room. "You're not yourself; you're being irrational. Sit down." She guided him back to his chair. He plunked into it, hands pressed against his forehead. The crown dangled from the crook of his elbow. She stared at him, biting her bottom lip. Sighing, she continued. "I was going to wait until after the banquet to tell you this…"

He looked up. "Tell me what?"

Glinda looked apprehensively at the door, then back at Nick and Scarecrow. "Do you remember the night Ozma passed? How she kept asking you to 'get Dorothy'? " She paused; the men stared at her, waiting for her to continue. Hesitating for a moment, she went on.

"She summoned me…she'd been having dreams…this was only days before she died. It was difficult to understand her; she could hardly breathe, let alone talk…" By now, both Nick and Scarecrow stood silent, attentive to the witch's every word.

"OZ is in danger. I know things are incredibly taxing for you right now but please, think about what you're saying. You can't abandon us. Something's going to happen…It was so hard to get her to tell me…I felt terrible asking her to repeat things, but I just couldn't understand her towards the end when it was more difficult for her to speak." She breathed out, continuing.

"She said something about someone named Everd, or, Everard…" She paced to the sofa opposite of Nick and Scarecrow and turned to gage their reactions. Both sat still, eyes gaping.

"I remembered the Everard from, what? Ninety years ago? He must have been at least twenty at that time, surely dead by now…but she kept saying his name, saying he would try to kill Dorothy, who I'm sure also must be dead, if not extremely aged..."

Nick's heart wrenched at the thought of sweet little Dorothy being gone forever. Glinda, perching herself on the sofa across from the pair, leaned forward, her story still in progress.

"Ozma would wake up screaming and sweating, struggling to breathe from these nightmares of Everard and Dorothy, of OZ in total destruction….Do you understand what I'm saying Scarecrow? She was an Aura. This _will _happen unless we can find a way to stop it…" Her eyes blazed desperately into his. "She chose you. She must have known you would be the one best suited to protect Dorothy, to protect us all…"

Scarecrow shook his head. "She was old, Glinda, and horribly ill. Who knows what she could have meant by it? Or if she even knew what was she was saying at all? And _why_ would she choose me? An Immortal, a scarecrow? I'm useless to these people…"

"Stop it." Nick interrupted. He grabbed the crown from Scarecrow's wrist, pointing it at him as he spoke. "Like it or not, Scarecrow, you _are_ the King of OZ. It's what Ozma wanted knowing full well we were in danger; why are you doubting her judgment? The Ozians aren't concerned about your insecurities; they care about their future, apparently which they have no idea is at risk. They need a leader, and you'd better damned well figure out how to start playing the part."

"How can I!?" Scarecrow shouted back. "You weren't there that day…the entire city was flooded with armies outranking my own, and what could I do? I was forced to sneak out of the palace like a coward; I couldn't even stand up to them and fight! I'm made of straw! Do you know what they were going to do to me? They planned to make a rag carpet out of my outsides and stuff sofa cushions with my insides! What kind of a king is that? You tell me _advisor_, what am I do to now, if danger truly is approaching OZ a second time? Let whoever it is come for me and finish the job?"

Burning, Nick retorted. "Here's the best advice you'll ever get, Your Highness…" He thrust the crown into Scarecrow's hands. "Man up!"

Storming out of the library, Nick slammed the door behind him. Speechless, Scarecrow turned to Glinda, who folded her arms and shrugged, clearly agreeing with Nick's contemptuous counsel. He looked down at the crown, hearing the crunch of tightly packed straw as he squeezed it in his fists. Nick's words vibrated through his brain. _Man up. _Turning it in his hands, he thought of its previous owner…a little slave girl, or boy, as it were, tucked away in the forests…were it not for Mombi's weakness for jewels she might have returned Ozma to the palace in the first place and he never would have been given the opportunity to fail the people of OZ…Mombi…Was she the answer? He broke the silence.

"Okay."

Glinda smiled and sighed. "Thank heaven…" She approached, but Scarecrow was already sweeping past her toward the door.

"Should we go to the banquet then?"

He turned back absentmindedly. "Huh? Oh…no. I'm not going to the banquet." he replied, taking off the heavily laden coronation jacket and throwing it across the back end of a chair.

"Excuse me?" she reacted, wrinkling her nose. "You were crowned ten minutes ago; you have to go! Everyone's there for _you_! Where are you going?"

He had already removed his tie and now worked to unbutton one of his shirt sleeves, rolling it up to reveal a cloth forearm.

"Nick's a true friend and an excellent advisor; I'm going to follow his counsel." he ejected scathingly, reaching for the door.

"Wait!" She stepped toward him, motioning for him to stop. "_Where _are you going? What am I supposed to tell everyone?"

"I'm going to the Black Forest; cover for me. I won't be more than a day or so…"

"A day or so? You just became king! You're going to go wandering in the forest? How can I possibly cover for that?"

"Tell them I'm commencing my first order of business as king," He opened the door. "And have a piece of walnut quiche for me." He walked out, still adjusting a shirt sleeve.

Glinda ran behind him, stopping at the doorway and staring at his back as he walked the length of the hallway.

"Damnit, Scarecrow! Give me something! Would you rather I lie to them?"

"An errand…an important errand…" his voice trailed off as he neared the end of the hallway.

"Who's Aaron?" She shouted back.

"_Errand_, but thanks for the name; I'll consider it!"

#

Deep within the wooded thickness of the Black Forest, a scavenger perused illegally on Mombi's property for mushrooms, berries, and roots. Hearing a loud snap, he jerked behind a tree, his heart racing. After a moment, his dirty face slipped out from behind the jagged bark. He squinted in the twilight; a man…or was it a man?...trudged through the woods, tripping over fallen logs and rabbit holes. He appeared well dressed, certainly not a forager or woodsman. He followed the man from a distance, silently dodging behind trees and bushes as he progressed further onto property, nearing closer to Mombi's cottage.

Intrigued, the forager concealed himself behind Mombi's shed, watching as the strange character approached her front door, knocking loudly. After a moment, the rickety wooden door opened slightly, Mombi's eye peering suspiciously from behind the open crack. Seeing who it was, she flung open the door and fearfully looked around behind the man, as if expecting others. Still a long distance from the pair, he couldn't make out what was being said between them. The man seemed to be asking her for something. Mombi shook her head, waving her arms back and forth vehemently. Nearly closing the door on the man, she stopped as he pulled out a satchel.

He handed it to her; she grasped it cautiously. Peering inside the sack, her mouth opened slightly, eyes widening. After a moment, she shook her head again regretfully and attempted to hand back the satchel. The man got down on his knees, begging. He turned, referencing behind him, saying something indiscernible. He pressed the satchel back toward Mombi's frail, hunchbacked frame. She stood motionless for a moment and peered again into the sack. Nervously, she looked again behind the man, searching the woods. She nodded at him and he rose, kissing her on the forehead, again saying something inaudible. She motioned for the man to enter and peered apprehensively outside as she quickly closed the door. Scratching his head, the forager squinted and stared confusedly at the cottage door. After a moment, he shrugged and slunk back into the dark woods, resuming his business.

The next morning, a different man emerged from Mombi's cottage; a man of skin and bone and a heart that beat strongly in his chest, making him fully mortal. Aaron Scarecrow's first order of business as king was complete; the next: find Dorothy Gale and bring her back to OZ.

Chapter seven

"I bring good tidings!" Everard's boots clomped across the damp limestone floor as he entered the Nome King's presence. The ruler's stature was intimidating; nine feet tall and comprised entirely of stone, he reclined in a massive granite chair; a small portion of his prized collection of ornaments stood huddled together on a table in front of him. Bowing, Everard continued with a smirk. "The Aura of OZ is dead!"

"You bring _old_ tidings." The king stared at Everard's upside down apparition through the spherical solid glass ornament he'd been polishing. "Yet, yes, happy news indeed. I hope you're prepared to act quickly; rumor has it Scarecrow has already begun his search for her."

Everard scoffed. "The same spies who furnish you with _that_ report have not only already provided _me_ with her exact whereabouts, but in addition, the quite exciting details of her recent change of life circumstances which you will be pleased to hear, should make the execution of my plan all the more simple." Everard's voice reverberated off of the soaring cavern walls of the Nome King's palace which was located deep inside Nome Mountain. The king lowered the ornament, raising an eyebrow in interest. Everard tossed a jeweled belt in front of him.

"Been looking for that?"

"Where did you get this!?" It was the king's enchanted belt which Ozma and Dorothy had stolen when they arrived in Ev for the first time so many years ago, defeating him and restoring the Evian Queen and her children back to their proper forms.

"I have my sources. Along with that little gem, we obtained a charmed picture frame which shows us anything we wish to see, in any part of the world…including other worlds. Rumor has it, it once belonged to Ozma herself."

Everard paced the floor in front of the king, continuing. "Little miss Dorothy is in quite a fix: poor Auntie Em is cold in the ground, Uncle Henry fast at her heels, and there's no husband to be spoken of." He grinned as he approached, sinking into an adjacent rocky seat. Reclining, he rested his heels on the table of ornaments.

"Once dear old Henry is dead, she's entirely alone, vulnerable, and ripe for capture. I'll have to borrow that belt to get to her, however."

The king reached across the table, cuffing Everard's boots to the ground with one strike. He rose, gripping him by the collar.

"I extended your life, and I can end it; have some respect." His breath came out like hot steam from a volcano, scorching Everard's face. He squinted, turning away from the boiling vapor.

"Don't disappoint me, Everard. You can have OZ and Dorothy, but I expect my payment as promised. Your _father _proved to be quite a waste of my resources; don't make me into a fool a second time." He shoved Everard back into the chair and returned to attend to his ornaments. Everard blotted his brow with his sleeve, his face red from the heat of the king's breath.

"Relax," He stood, smoothing his hair and straightening his collar. "Miss Gale is a pretty little gift wrapped package with my name on it, sitting in the middle of Nowhere Kansas, just waiting for me." He strolled over to the king's side and lifted a golden bird ornament from the table. Tossing it from hand to hand, he went on.

"I bring her back to OZ, use her as leverage against Scarecrow, murder her in front of him, and proceed to obliterate Ozma's precious land and people! And you get your shiny new ornaments; we each receive recompense for our past troubles! The scarecrow may not prove to be particularly beautiful as an ornament, but a tin man and a witch? Personally, I can't wait to see how they turn out!"

"Fine," the Nome King said as he looked down, fastening the belt to his waist. "But you're not taking this belt anywhere; I'll use it to send you to her, and we'll employ the Farotic magic to bring you back."

"Whatever you say…" Everard began tossing the bird high in the air, barely catching it as it plummeted toward the ground. A great stony hand grabbed his, encasing it entirely and cradling the bird in the core of the mass. The king loosened his grip, plucked the bird from Everard's grasp, and restored it to its place amongst the other curios on the table, wiping it with a cloth before turning his gaze back to Everard and pointing to the door.

"Get to work."

Chapter eight

It was late October in Kansas, and raining. A small handful of country folk clustered together under slick black umbrellas to pay respect to the farmer's wife. A flimsy pine box held the remains, and as it was lowered into the muddy grave, it bumped at the sides, splattering wet, black earth onto the edges of the wood. A lanky, balding reverend stood beside the grave, apathetically reading from his manual.

"In the name of God, the merciful Father, we commit the body of Emily Gale to the peace of the grave. From dust she came, to dust she shall return. Give her, oh Lord, your peace, and let your eternal light shine upon her. Amen."

Dorothy held her breath as the volunteers from the church hastily shoveled mounds of mud into Em's grave. The two or three people who remained long enough to see it covered laid chilly hands upon her afterward, offering their condolences and empty promises of assistance should she need anything. The reverend inquired if she would like a ride home in his wagon.

"No, thank you. I think I'd like to stay for a while." She forced her lips into a smile. "I'll be alright." He tipped his hat and trudged the length of the cemetery, heading toward the rusty iron gated entrance.

Dorothy stood in the cold drizzle, her gaze fixed on the wet mound of earth until she heard the sound of the gate creaking to a close at the far end of the graveyard. She waited in silence for a moment before allowing her lashes to close. A torrent of hot, salty fluid trickled down the length of her face, burning against her cheeks. She knelt next to the grave, the wetness from the grass soaking through the skirt of her dress and onto her knees.

She placed a white rose on the knoll of sludge that covered Aunt Em and stared at it as beads of moisture formed on the petals, growing larger and finally rolling along the length of the pallid skin before dripping onto the heap, soaking into it and adding to its heaviness. She looked at the wood cross at the head of the mud pile. _EMILY GALE___and _1858-1921 _had been scratched into it. Dorothy hated the cross. After everything Aunt Em had been to her and Uncle Henry, after years of love, tears, sweat, and laughter, she hated what it reduced her to: _1858-1921_.

Aunt Emily wasn't truly Dorothy's aunt, nor was Henry her uncle. Henry had been assessing the damage to his crops one morning after a severe storm when he discovered an unconscious Dorothy and her two dead parents lying in his field. Em and Henry tried to locate her relatives, but after months of unsuccessful searching, they finally adopted her as their own. She was very young at the time, and although confused by everything that transpired, she knew Em and Henry were not her parents, so she insisted on calling them aunt and uncle.

Dorothy could remember nothing of her parents or life before the storm, and couldn't even remember her own name; Em and Henry supposed it must be due to the trauma of the incident. Emily had always wanted a baby but wasn't able to conceive, so she took pleasure in giving Dorothy her name, which meant "gift of God". Dorothy was by far the loveliest girl in the tiny rural area, but also the strangest. Many of the girls in town snubbed her for her attractiveness, and the small handful of potential suitors were quickly turned off by her refusal to eat meat and her penchant for literature, science, and art.

The years passed, and with them, Dorothy's chance for marriage. Em and Henry loved having her at home, however, and never pressured her to find a husband. So, she happily remained with them, helping on the farm during the day and scratching away at sketch pads and pouring over Yeats, Donne, and Eliot by night. Aunt Em was a simple woman and barely graduated the eighth grade, but she insisted that Dorothy be well educated. After slaving on the farm all day, she worked as a seamstress in the evenings to pay for Dorothy's private tutoring. As hard as she worked, she always found time to hold Dorothy on her lap in her rocking chair on the porch every evening where they would listen to Uncle Henry play his mandolin and sing as the sun set.

For her eighth birthday, Dorothy received a rocking chair of her very own; Uncle Henry made it out of hickory wood, carving intricate flowers into its back. She felt like a real lady in that chair, rocking back and forth, listening to Henry sing and closing her eyes to focus on the music and the warm, sweet smell of freshly baked bread and lemon verbena that wafted off of Em who sat close by.

Dorothy closed her eyes and tried to force her brain to conjure that same aroma again, but as she inhaled, the heavy odor of wet trees and dirt were all she sensed. A shrill crack of thunder jolted her back to the graveside where she knelt. The rain came down harder. Her dress was soaked, her hands freezing. Uncle Henry was home alone; she should get back. She kissed her hand and rested it on the rose.

"I love you." she breathed out, steam escaping her lips and disappearing as it rolled over the petals.

The old, weathered farmhouse stood firmly against the rain and wind. It was grey like the land surrounding it, but there had been a time when things were brighter. Years ago, the house was painted brilliant white and trimmed with dark green. In front of the house, Em and Dorothy kept a large flower garden where they would spend hours together sipping chamomile tea and working on needlepoint in the sweet warmth of the sun. Nothing had lived in the garden since last spring, and the now splintered and rough fence surrounding it had long since fallen apart. Dorothy gripped at the broken garden barrier as she approached the shelter of the wraparound porch of the farmhouse; she could hardly see through the downpour. During the two mile trek home from the cemetery, the rain had morphed from a light drizzle to a pounding torrent.

She creaked open the front door and stepped inside; a puddle of rainwater pooled under her feet. The farmhouse was small, but Dorothy loved it. The kitchen, immediately to the right upon entering the little house, was full of dried herbs and flowers, and there was a little picture window above the sink. She looked out the window at the storm as she passed through the room; thousands of rain droplets splattered hard against the pane, morphing her reflection. Beyond the kitchen, through a large log archway, was the main room of the house. To the right, a great stone fireplace crackled next to the oak dining table Uncle Henry had built. On the other side of the room was a modest collection of furniture, also built by Henry.

She walked to the hearth and stuffed it with kindling, then two more fat logs. After a minute, its blaze radiated warmth throughout the entire room. Sighing in pleasure from the warmth of the fire, she removed her black heeled boots and hung her coat to dry on a nearby rack. She leaned closer, squeezing excess water from her long, dark hair. As she began to rub her numb hands together in front of the flames, she glanced down at Toto's bed. Poor Toto had died of old age almost ten years ago, but she never had the heart to remove his bed. Easy going as they were, Em and Henry never seemed to mind, so there it was, and there it would stay.

Still warming herself, she jerked at a pounding sound coming from outside. At first she thought it to be debris thumping along the porch from the wind of the rainstorm, but when it continued, she jogged to the window, pulling back the checkered sash and peering out through the rain.

A shiny black Ford was parked in front of the house, the engine still running; its headlights cast a hazy beam of brightness through the rain. The pounding came from a man in a blue suit and hat hammering something to the porch door. She ducked behind the curtains, peeking through a slit with one olive colored eye until the man returned to the car and it pulled away, bumping along the uneven terrain toward the main road. Once the vehicle was out of sight, she hurried through the front door into the covered porch and swung open the screen door. A notice had been nailed haphazardly into the doorframe:

_Mr. Henry Gale, _

_ THIRD AND FINAL NOTICE: Government taxes owed on your property in the amount of $3025.67 must be received by 12:00pm Saturday, November 12, 1921. A government official will arrive at your property on that date to obtain payment in full. Failure to pay the above amount in full will result in the foreclosure and auction of this property on that same date. Inquiries may be addressed to: Kansas Treasury, Real Estate and Personal Property Taxes, 138 Main Street, Topeka KS. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Charles R. Shea_

_ State of Kansas Senior Property Tax Accounting Manager _

Dorothy's stomach clenched; a hot wave of nausea rushed over her. _Three thousand and twenty five dollars? _Henry said they were behind in taxes, but _three thousand and twenty five dollars_? Her heart began to pound in her ears. Dazed, she walked back toward the kitchen, the screen door banging shut behind her. Returning to the dining room, she fell to her knees next to the hearth and spread the damp notice out onto the warm stones. Flame light danced over the numbers on the letter, waving them mockingly at her. In the back of the house, sharp coughing commenced behind a closed door.

In late spring, right after Dorothy's twenty seventh birthday, Uncle Henry contracted tuberculosis, and soon after Emily fell ill as well. The farm was struggling even before this, but from year to year they somehow always managed to make ends meet. They couldn't afford hired hands, and when Henry was too sick to harvest in September, over two thirds of the crops went to waste. Dorothy attempted to harvest it herself, but it was simply too much work for one person; a fortune was lost. Not only did they not make a profit, but now they were also in debt to the bank for the costs incurred during planting season.

Soon after Henry and Em fell ill, Dorothy called in a doctor from town. Upon examination of the patients, he less than tactfully told her to start making plans for her future after their imminent deaths, handed her the bill, and left. She assumed that once she were on her own she would move into town and find a job…somewhere. She could manage. But Henry was still here, lying cold and grey in his bed, coughing up blood from the same disease that had only just taken Em. Where would they go? The twelfth was only two weeks away. If she could buy enough time, find some way to pay the taxes, Henry could at least be gifted the dignity of passing away in his own bed. Shoving the notice into her dress pocket, she rushed down the back hall where Henry lay dying.

Peeking into the dimly lit room, she spied Henry sitting upright in his and Em's oversized log bed, a faded patchwork quilt covering his legs.

"Henry…" she whispered as she opened the door to enter. "It's freezing in here!" she ejected, stepping inside. She dashed toward a large oak chest in the corner of the room to fetch another blanket. Closing its lid, she briefly glanced out of the room's only eye to the outside world: a small four paned window overlooking an endless stretch of flat prairie land. The rain was beginning to let up. She approached Henry, ready to drape the thick quilt around him when she saw the blood. Splatters of bright crimson covered his nightshirt, blanket, and hands. Her heart walloped. Henry grappled for the covers with pale hands, attempting to remove them.

"No," she leaned in, pressing him back onto his pillow. "Lay down…"

She rushed to the washbasin, hastily splashed cold water over a rag, twisted it out over the basin, and darted back to the bed. Henry stared vacantly down at the blood stained quilt Em had made many years ago, even before they found little Dorothy in the fields.

She perched onto the bed next to him and, taking his face gently in her hand, blotted at the blood in the corners of his mouth. Still, he avoided her gaze. Scarlet speckled hands dug into the quilt, and as he squeezed his aged lids shut, a stream of tears trickled down the side of his face, trapped inside gulches of wrinkled skin as they ran their course. Dorothy remained silent. She pulled his frame against her and draped her arms around him, resting her head on his bony shoulder.

"It was a lovely service."

Several moments of silence passed before he spoke.

"I want to die…I just want to die."

Dorothy's eyes glossed with tears. Witnessing Em's suffering and death had been unreal for her, and the thought of yet another round with Henry was absolutely frightening.

"Then go, Henry." She tried to keep her voice from wavering. The words pained her, but to encourage him to hold on was selfish. There was one end to this, and prolonging it would only create more suffering.

"Just let go. It's okay to let go..." She left her face nuzzled in his shoulder as he replied; the vibration of his voice from within his body was a comfort to her. She soaked it in, trying to create a permanent memory of what would soon be gone forever.

"I don't want to leave you alone," his voice cracked. "I'm worried about you, Dot." Dot had been his own special nickname for her. She realized then that without him, there would be no more Dot. Memories flooded her brain. One warm, golden summer afternoon, the corn fields rocked back and forth slightly in the gentle breeze. Henry shouted down from a foundation of wooden planks high up in a tree; she was eight years old and he had been building her a tree house.

"Hand me that hammer, would ya Dot?"

In the winter, they built snow forts and playfully attacked each other with snowballs. Stomping the cold, wet powder from their boots before entering the warm house for some of Em's hot cider, Dorothy laughed at how tragically he had lost the fight. Still shaking off his coat, he mused, "I'll have my revenge next time, Dot!"

_Pass the potatoes, Dot. _

_ How do you like my new hat, Dot? _

_ Sleep tight, Dot. _

_ I love you, Dot._

She sniffed and pulled back, taking Henry's hands in her own. As she wiped the blood from his palms, she spoke determinedly.

"Don't worry about me." Standing up, she removed the bloody blanket and replaced it with the thicker, warmer one she'd retrieved from the chest. "I mean it." She bent and kissed his forehead. Hugging him close again, she continued.

"I'll be fine. Everything will be fine."

Later, closing the bedroom door behind her, she resolved that everything damned well would be fine. She would not let Henry die in the streets. Taking the collections letter from her pocket again, she unfolded it and glared at the amount. She breathed out harshly.

"Alright then."

Monday morning, she clomped down the road toward town on the Gale's best horse, a blonde Belgian Draft named Hickory. Right arm rested at her side, her pale satin hand tightly gripped the reins of their only other steed, a black and white Clydesdale Em had named Ace. Draped over Ace's back were sacks stuffed with everything of value Dorothy could find from the farmhouse, which wasn't much: Em's antique German china tea set, a hand-painted antique music box with gold plated trim, Henry's Winchester rifle, and a first edition of _Paradise Lost_ Em and Henry had surprised her with for Christmas ten years ago. The rain had continued overnight, and the horses' hooves sucked against the mud as they trotted down the fifteen mile stretch of road to town.

#

"Mr. Hudson, it's a _first edition_!" Dorothy leaned across the glass counter of Hudson's Book Shop, her hands pressed against her face in exasperation. "_Milton_! You of all people should appreciate what this is!"

Sam Hudson looked around nervously at the disapproving looks from his other customers. "Please, Miss Gale, lower your voice."

Embarrassed, she glanced awkwardly behind her, then returned her attention to the shop owner. "You can't be serious," she continued, consciously lowering her tone. "This text is over two hundred years old, not to mention a hugely important piece of literature…and in pristine condition…It's worth at least _ten times_ what you've offered…"

The bells on the door jingled, and a slender, well-dressed man slipped softly into the dim, cool belly of the bookshop. He removed his hat and nodded politely in the direction of Mr. Hudson; his dark hair was sharply parted and combed back to sleek perfection.

Mr. Hudson twitched his heavily mustached nose back and forth in an itch before replying. "I'm sorry, Miss Gale. As a fellow lover of literature, I assure you I'm quite aware of its value. Unfortunately, I can't justify spending what it's worth; not in this small of a town. Folks here are interested in almanacs and Zane Grey's latest, not antiquities. It would take far too long to resell it, and I can't afford that great of a loss in the meantime. Again, I'm sorry. You have my offer. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

Mr. Hudson smoothed his mustache, tightened his apron strings, cleared his throat, and approached the affluent looking gentlemen who had just entered and was now clearly lost and squinting confusedly at titles stacked along a wall in the back of the shop under the label of _Ladies' Interests._

"Afternoon, sir! What may I help you find today?"

Dorothy rolled her eyes at Mr. Hudson's overly zealous cordiality toward his prey. Pursing her lips, she looked down at her precious copy of Paradise Lost which floated tranquilly at the surface of the clear glass counter. She grazed her slender fingers along its black and gold embossed cover and let out a breath. As desperate as she was, an offer of three hundred dollars was an insult. The amount would make no difference, anyhow. Everything she'd brought into town was already sold, and for less than she'd anticipated. Seven hundred twenty five dollars was stuffed snugly in her brassiere. Not enough to save the house. Defeated, she scooped up the text, re-wrapped it in the crinkly brown paper in which it had traveled into town, and headed for the door.

The air in the shop lingered with scented shades both sharp and stale. Aromas of freshly printed new releases and musty manuscripts swirled together, caressing her hair as it lifted from her shoulders in the current created by her hurried pace. As she extended her arm for the door, a clammy hand grasped her shoulder. Startled, she twisted to see the elegant stranger standing uncomfortably near, his damp hand still gracelessly clamped onto her.

"Pardon me Miss…Gale, is it?" He had an accent which was difficult to place; His eyes were like molasses, dark and sticking fast to anything caught in their path.

Hinting at her discomfort, Dorothy frowned curtly at his hand before responding. "Yes?" The gentleman, realizing his lack of good manners, quickly withdrew his hand and smiled in embarrassment.

"I beg your pardon, I-" He was cut short by Mr. Hudson whose head quickly popped up from behind his shoulder.

"Oh, Miss Gale! I'm so glad we caught you!" He rounded the mysterious gentleman's side, stopping between him and Dorothy.

"This fine gentleman so happens to be looking for a _first edition_ of _Paradise Lost_!" He grabbed both Dorothy and the stranger by the arm, unabashedly leading them toward the register at the back of the shop.

"What happy circumstances!" he exclaimed as he snatched the paper swaddled volume from under Dorothy's arm and placed it on the glass counter, unwrapping it as he continued.

"Miss Gale and I were only just discussing what a shame it is that more folks aren't interested in expanding their intellectual horizons through the acquisition of such classic treasures as this!" He thrust the black leather volume at the gentleman who quickly retrieved a silk handkerchief from his jacket pocket, creating a protective shield between his hands and the text. After inspecting it for a brief moment he turned to Dorothy, beaming expectantly.

"It's for sale?"

Both thrilled by and aching at the thought of selling her dear Milton, she replied. "Yes, it is, Mr.?..."

"Dr., actually." he started. His foreign inflection was like cool waters trickling over stones in a stream. "Dr. Alexander Reve; but you may call me Alex. Please, tell me Miss Gale, what are you asking for such a precious item as this? I'll be only too happy to pay whatever you require."

Again, Sam Hudson interjected, directing the course of the exchange. "A book as rare as this, and in such pristine condition? I'd wager its value to be at least three thousand! Wouldn't you agree, Miss Gale?"

Dorothy's heart faltered. Three thousand would add to her brassiere bank account, creating not only enough to save the farmhouse, but a surplus of hundreds! Attempting to appear unimpressed by the amount, she folded her arms and fixed her gaze at the book's cover.

"I suppose that would be adequate."

"Wonderful!" Mr. Hudson exclaimed. He ducked under the counter, quickly surfacing with a sales receipt pad and a paper bag embossed with the words _Hudson's Books_.

"Of course, ten percent of the sale amount will go to the shop as the third party negotiator…" he stated briskly as he began filling out the sales receipt. Exhausted by the man's overreaching attempt at securing his meal ticket, Dorothy replied disdainfully.

"Of course."

Chapter nine

"I've been waiting for this moment for quite a long time, Miss Gale," Alex exclaimed after shaking hands with Mr. Hudson and accepting the crisp brown paper bag containing his newfound treasure. "To finally have that which I've desired within my grasp is quite exhilarating!" He smiled, his dark molasses eyes seeping into her. Something about the man was arresting; Dorothy wasn't sure whether to attribute it to the silky foreign rhetoric with which he spoke, to his elegant appearance, or perhaps the blend of both. Forgetting herself, she returned his smile like a fly caught in the sticky syrup of his gaze.

An imposing grandfather clock in the corner of the bookshop gonged once, snapping her out of her trance. She had left Henry in the care of Hattie Johnson, the reverend's wife; she'd seemed entirely put out by the request. The church ice cream social was beginning at three o' clock and she simply _had_ to be there by two thirty to help prepare. Dorothy promised she would return by two.

"Yes, well. I'm sure you'll give it a very good home. It was a pleasure meeting you Dr. Reve." She smiled cordially and began walking toward the door of the shop. Before she could reach the doorknob, Alex's hand extended in front of hers, grasping the handle and scraping the door open wide. Restoring his fedora to his head, he tipped it in her direction, grinning sheepishly. A gust of wind rushed into the shop, ushering in circlets of swirling dead leaves along the floor. Nodding in thanks, she pressed into the chilly autumn air outside, the heels of her boots clapping onto the sidewalk.

Expelling a heavy breath, Dorothy stared in the direction of home.She'd intended to ride Hickory on the way back, but the groom at Brown's Equine Stables low balled her on the Clydesdale and only offered to raise the price if she included Hickory in the deal. Desperate, she agreed, and now had no choice but to head for home on foot. A fifteen mile journey would take at least three hours, even at a brisk pace. Adding to her misfortune, dark clouds were now quickly forming overhead. She pictured her arrival at home, soaking wet and two hours late. Hattie would be furious.

Heavy wagon wheels crunched over the cobblestone street in front of her. Children in Halloween masks ran up and down the sidewalks, laughing and shouting at one another, brushing against her as they passed. A cold wind pushed at her back, sweeping her hair in front of her face. She turned to face the breeze, eyes squinted shut against the current. Pressing her hands against her face, she brushed the heavy curls behind her shoulders once more. Opening them again, she startled at the sight of Dr. Reve standing immediately in front of her, staring gracelessly.

"Miss Gale, forgive me; we seem to be headed in the same direction! To which shop are you headed next? Please, would you give me the pleasure of escorting you?" He extended an arm which was now covered by an exquisite black cashmere coat. Hesitating, she replied.

"I'm actually heading home now, Dr. Reve, but thank you just the same." She nodded in thanks and turned again toward the busy city street.

"In that case," The black cashmere arm once again invaded her view. "You must at least extend me the honor of escorting you to your vehicle." Now entirely self-conscious, she looked up at her chic new acquaintance.

"Again, thanks for the offer. It seems that I'll be traveling on foot today, however." A crack of thunder roared through the atmosphere like a lion and droplets of rain began to splatter out of the firmament.

"On foot? You live here in town then?" he ejected, fumbling for the umbrella in his coat pocket and snapping it open overhead as he spoke. The conversation was becoming increasingly embarrassing for her.

"No…"

He stared at her, confused.

"It's only about fifteen miles up the road there." She pointed along the road headed westward out of town. "Thank you just the same. Again, nice meeting you." She feigned a smile and attempted to step away. His black umbrella followed, hovering overhead.

"Miss Gale, forgive me for my forwardness, but I can't allow this. Please, I have a car; allow me to drive you home. It would be my honor." He touched her arm, his sticky gaze once again ensnaring her.

The icy current picked up speed, and the rain beat harder against the black shield Dr. Reve held overhead. An image of an angry reverend's wife conjured itself in Dorothy's mind. Already freezing, she couldn't fathom a three hour trek home through the rain.

"Well…" she began. Again, she looked up at the gentleman. He held the umbrella over her with such care, his own person becoming increasingly soaked by the rain as he stared at her expectantly.

"Yes, thank you. That would be lovely."

"Wonderful! I'm just over here, further down the street…" He led Dorothy to a shiny, cream colored convertible parked along the sidewalk. A small crowd of men hovered close by, clustered under umbrellas and admiring the magnificent machine. After several moments of handshakes and cordial conversation regarding the vehicle, the Dr. excused himself and opened the passenger door for Dorothy.

She sunk into the rich leather seat, breathing in the sweet aroma of the new vehicle. The top had been extended to cover the seats, protecting her against the rain which by then had increased to a downpour. After further genialities, Dr. Reve eventually slid into the vehicle, the weight of his body pressing next to her into the seat.

A large group of children rushed past the car along the sidewalk, stomping through puddles and laughing, their paper mache masks still hiding their faces. Mystified, the Dr. craned his neck to watch them disappear around the corner of Ableman's Pharmacy. Turning back, he paused for a moment, staring perplexedly at the dark wood steering wheel before speaking.

"Is this a typical thing here in your land? Children gallivanting around in masks?" He swept his dark eyes up and down the street before turning the steering wheel and pulling the car out into traffic.

Confused, Dorothy replied. "It is on Halloween; October 31st. That's today." The car rolled like butter down the cobblestone street, sweeping past slow moving wagons and folks on horses.

"Halloween?" He pursed his lips in thought, turning the vehicle onto the long dirt road headed west. "We don't take part in that where I'm from."

"Where exactly are you from, Dr. Reve, if you don't mind my asking?"

His rich accent was beautiful, but Dorothy couldn't place it. It sounded almost like a blend of European English and Russian. Several moments passed in silence before he responded. She looked out the window at the riverbank alongside the road; millions of large droplets of rainwater plunked into its body. Giant Sycamore trees lined the banks, their broad leaves depressed by the shower. Eyes remaining fixed on the road ahead, Dr. Reve cleared his throat and spoke.

"A place far from here. Quite a small area, really; I doubt it would be labeled on any map. Perhaps the next time I have the pleasure of visiting with you I can show you, yes?" He turned his glance to her and smiled. She returned the gesture, and the silence resumed.

The rain beat against the windshield, drizzling downward almost as a solid sheet of water and blurring the view ahead. After a moment, growing curiosity overpowered politeness and she spoke again, breaking the stillness between them.

"I hope you don't find me rude for asking, Dr., but…whatever would bring a person such as yourself halfway across the world to a small farming community in Kansas?"

He laughed. "Yes, I suppose one _would_ question my presence here." More silence followed. She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows, staring at him unabashedly in hope of further details. Sensing her dissatisfaction with his vague reply, he continued.

"I'm here on personal business; in fact, I plan to return home very soon." Changing the subject much too quickly for her liking, he went on. "And please," He turned his gaze back to her with a charming half grin. "I wish you'd call me Alex."

Twenty minutes later, the rain beaded vehicle rumbled up the bumpy driveway leading to Gale Farm. The skies had begun to clear, and several bright shafts of sunlight broke through the remaining patches of clouds. Before the car could reach the front of the house, the Reverend's wife barreled out the door, bunching her blood splattered skirt around her ankles as she descended the steps to the front porch. She sprinted toward the car. Her grey streaked blonde hair was pulled back in a tousled bun; the wrinkles in her leathery skin bore deeper into her face as she grimaced in fear.

"Dorothy!? Is that you!?"

Nearly colliding into the vehicle, she squinted through the window and reached for the door handle, jerking at it with shaking hands. "Thank God! Please! I don't know what to do! He can't stop coughing up blood!"

"What!?" Dorothy stumbled out of the car. Hattie grabbed her wrist and pulled, heading back toward the house.

"I think he's dying, Dorothy! I'm so sorry…he just started coughing uncontrollably…I don't know what to do!"

Together, the women scampered up the rickety porch steps and flew into the house. Dorothy rushed ahead of Hattie, charging through the open bedroom door. Henry had collapsed over the edge of the bed and was sputtering and gasping from the blood in his throat.

"Henry!" She pressed at his shoulders, pushing him back against the headboard. His mouth and throat were doused in slimy crimson. Trembling, she wiped at his mouth with a nearby rag and turned to the reverend's wife.

"Get some hot water and cloths! Now!"

Turning back to Henry, tears pooled in her olive eyes and her chin quivered. "Everything's alright." She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince: Henry or herself. "Everything will be alright…breathe…"

Henry continued to gag and cough uncontrollably, blood seeping from his mouth. A cloth face mask landed on the bed in front of her.

Dorothy hadn't noticed Alex entering the room. The nightstand had been cleared off, and a black leather bag rested on its surface. Alex's mouth and nose were covered by a mask identical to the one he'd tossed at her; gloved hands grasped for tools and vials within the bag.

"Put it on." He calmly ordered.

Dorothy's fingers quaked as she pressed the mask to her face and slid the elastic bands behind her ears. Alex withdrew a small aluminum syrette from his bag. He slid Henry's sleeve up easily over his dilapidated arm, his bottomless dark eyes focused intently on finding a good vein. He broke the seal on the syrette and removed a long metal loop of wire, revealing a needle.

"What are you giving him?" she blurted out, panicked.

"Just a touch of morphine." He inserted the needle under Henry's skin and squeezed the contents from the aluminum tube. "It'll help with the pain."

Within a few moments, the coughing ceased. Dorothy gently encased Henry's knobby hand within her own, holding it to her face. Her mask was soggy from tears; the wet fibers stuck fast against her cheekbones. Hattie re entered the room noiselessly, balancing a basin full of hot water and cloths between her hands.

"Is he…is everything alright now?" Her usually suntanned face had become drained of color. She swallowed, her gaze darting between each of the other three persons in the room.

"He's stable for the moment." Alex began, standing from his kneeling position beside the bed. He plucked a mask from within his bag and approached the Reverend's wife. "Put this on, will you? I need to have a word with Miss Gale outside. Clean him up and give him a new nightshirt; I'll return her to you in a moment."

By then Dorothy had already taken the basin from the Reverend's wife and was stooped at the bedside, wiping the blood from Henry's face. Her gaze remained fixed on her uncle as she dropped the red stained cloth back into the basin and rose, wringing her hands as she started for the door. Alex removed his gloves and placed a hand at Dorothy's back as they exited the room.

The pair lingered in the dim hallway, talking in whispers. Dorothy folded her arms against her chest and stared at a crack in the wood floor, the mask still hiding her face.

"He's your father?" Alex inquired gently, pulling at the elastic bands on his ears to release his mask.

"Yes- no…" Dorothy expelled a breath, pulling at her own mask and shaking her head as she peeled the wet cloth from her face. "He's sort of my adoptive father."

Alex nodded thoughtfully. "Miss Gale, this man belongs in a sanatorium where he can be cared for properly. He's in the final stage…"

She snapped back in a low voice. "He gets all the care he needs here, in his _home_. We're all the other has left in this world. You're a doctor; you know how this disease ends, regardless of the location of its sufferer. I won't dump him off at an institution like some worthless sack of garbage. And yes," she continued, "I know quite well what the last stage of consumption looks like." Her eyes pooled with hot tears once more. She looked down at the mask, twisting it in her hands. "It took my…mother- his wife, only several days ago."

"…I'm so sorry." he whispered.

A moment passed in silence. Dorothy sniffed and brushed her fingers against her cheeks, mopping away the tears. Still fixing her gaze at the floor, she replied.

"I'm sorry. You're a total stranger to me and in only an hour's time you've helped me much more than you realize. I shouldn't have spoken to you that way. I'm sorry, Dr…Alex." Looking up at him, she forced a quick smile.

"Don't think another moment on it." he replied kindly, looking into her reddened, wet eyes.

"…How much time do you suppose he has?" She immediately regretted asking, not wanting to hear the answer.

Alex smoothed his already perfect hair. "It could be as long as a month…most likely less. Who is his regular physician? Perhaps we should call…" He gestured for the living room, but silenced himself upon assessing Dorothy's uncomfortable expression.

"No phone?"

Dorothy bit her lip and stared back silently.

"No doctor?"

Hesitating, she answered.

"Neither."

Hattie creaked open the bedroom door and poked her head out into the hall.

"Dorothy? Honey I'm sorry, but the social…I should have been there by now." She swept into the hall, gingerly closing the door behind her. "You understand."

Resentment boiled in Dorothy's heart. _Of course I understand, _she thought to herself. _A damn ice cream social is more important than a dying member of your own congregation. _Gritting her teeth, she attempted to answer calmly.

"Certainly; thank you so much for coming today. You were a tremendous help; I'm sorry for the scare."

Hattie widened her eyes in exasperation, batting at her stained skirt. "Yes, well." She sighed. Turning to Alex, she extended her hand.

"Good afternoon, Doctor."

Alex politely took her hand and replied, bowing. "Afternoon, Madame."

Dorothy watched from the porch as Hattie mounted her carriage and wheeled out onto the main road, never once looking back. Folding her arms, she leaned against one of the giant log columns supporting the roof of the porch and closed her eyes, breathing in the sweetness of the post shower air. Moments later, the front door creaked and banged behind her. She turned to see Alex approaching; he had removed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He stopped next to her, leaning his weight against the wood railing that lined the perimeter of the deck.

"He's sleeping now."

She exhaled. "Thank you, Alex."

Pressing against the column, she straightened herself and turned to face him. "I'm sure you have places to be; I've taken far too much of your time today." She extended her arm in his direction, offering her hand.

"It truly was a pleasure, and again, thank you for everything. I don't know what might have happened had you not been here."

He looked at her hand and smirked. He straightened himself and, taking it, shook heartily as he replied. "You're most welcome; it's been no trouble at all." He released her hand and turned back to lean once more against the railing.

Utterly confused, she stared at Alex who remained silent, gazing contentedly at the view of the fields surrounding the farmhouse.

"Alex…go. Really, we'll be alright. You've done more than enough."

He maintained his position. Chuckling softly, he turned his head toward her.

"Again, you're welcome. And no," He straightened, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere."

Dorothy's eyes widened. "I beg your pardon?"

Folding his arms defiantly, he retorted. "I believe you heard me." He leaned against the same column which Dorothy had previously occupied. She rolled her eyes.

"Alex, you're a kind man." She stepped closer and grasped at his arm, attempting to pull him from his position. "I understand you want to help us, and please know how much I appreciate the sentiment, but we simply can't afford you. _Goodbye_."

He remained steadfast. "Perhaps you didn't hear me after all." He folded his arms tighter against his chest. "You live here alone with a man who will die any day. What do you plan to do with his body? Will you walk four hours into town, leaving it here? And what if he passes at night?"

Stunned, she recoiled her grasp in response to his curtness. He continued.

"You have no doctor. You have no telephone. You have no transportation. I don't expect payment; that's meaningless to me. But you _will_ allow me to stay; upon that, Miss Gale, I absolutely insist."

Her face felt numb; he was right. She hadn't considered what she would do when Henry passed, and the thought of being alone when it happened terrified her. Alex had morphine, which could provide Henry with a more comfortable passing, even if only slightly. Mirroring Alex's obstinacy, she folded her arms and breathed out harshly, puckering her lips as she matched his gaze.

"I'm not one for charity, Alex, but I love that man. If you can promise me you'll ease his passing…" she paused for a moment before saying the words. "You can stay."

Fully satisfied, he uncrossed his arms and took Dorothy's hand, kissing it graciously. "There's no such thing as charity between friends, Miss Gale. And I do promise; he'll pass with every possible comfort."

Breathing a sigh of relief, she smiled at her new friend.

"Thank you."

A cold breeze shuttled along the porch, chilling the twosome. Shivering, Dorothy started for the door. "I think we could each use a little hot coffee. Can I offer you a cup?"

"That would be wonderful Miss Gale, thank you."

"Please," she began, creaking open the old screen door.

"I wish you'd call me Dorothy."

#

The next twelve days passed in a blur. As expected, Henry's condition grew increasingly worse, and he required more and more morphine to remain at ease. Neither Alex nor Dorothy slept much at all; they attempted to trade off shifts, but Henry's need for nearly constant attention resulted in periods of sleep lasting no more than an hour or two at a time for either of them. Both were utterly exhausted.

The morning of the twelfth brought with it even more anxiety for Dorothy than was involved in the usual caring for Henry. She hadn't told either of her companions about the back taxes. Not wanting to cause unnecessary stress for Henry and ashamed to let Alex know the circumstances, she intended to pay the debt collector as discretely as possible when he arrived and hope no one would be the wiser.

Every noise from outside sent her dashing to the door. She was beginning to receive odd looks from Alex and was quickly running out of excuses as to why she was constantly bolting from the room. Mistaking a large flock of geese for a car engine, she now retreated from her fourth fruitless expedition to the front door. Rounding the corner into the dining room, she nearly collided with Alex.

"Excuse me!" She'd intended to continue straight on to Henry's room, but stopped upon seeing Alex wearing a smart grey suit, his hair combed back to the same sleek perfection as when they'd first met. The suit was exquisite, and one of the many fine ensembles he'd brought from his hotel after Dorothy consented for him to stay. He was holding a matching fedora with silk lining; his left hand clutched the black leather bag at his side. He donned the hat and smiled warmly at Dorothy who still looked a mess; her hair was pinned back loosely and she wore a wrinkled, blood spotted apron.

"I've run out of morphine; can I bring you anything from town?"

"Milk and eggs."

Alex had recommended the regular intake of several glasses of milk and raw eggs each day for Henry, and despite owning a cow and several chickens they had run out of both items.

He nodded. "Certainly…Dorothy?" he called after her as she rushed toward Henry's room. She turned back.

"I've moved him outside again. The fresh air is good for his lungs."

Nodding, she jogged back toward the living room, snatched a fat book off of the shelf and brushed past Alex, pecking him lightly on the check.

"Thanks."

The left corner of his mouth rose in a sheepish smile. He remained dazed for a moment before shaking himself from the stupor and shouting at her once more. "Bring him in after twenty minutes or so; it's cold out!" She persisted toward the back door, this time not turning back, and shouted in return.

"Right!"

Behind the old farmhouse, Henry sat upright in a wooden chair, swaddled in loads of heavy blankets. His cheekbones were sunken, his skin pallid. Despite being around him nearly every hour of the day, Dorothy was still taken aback every time she saw him; he looked so old. She approached, kissing his head before seating herself next to him in the carved rocking chair he'd made so many years before. She faked a smile.

"Pretty nice weather today; a lot warmer than yesterday." She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun, listening to the echoing sound of birds chirping in a nearby grove. She began rocking and turned her head to Henry, opening one eye to him, the other remaining closed against the brightness of the sun. Henry seemed content out in the fresh air; he closed his eyes and breathed in as deeply as his lungs would allow, then coughed into a rag.

"Yeah," he exhaled, steam escaping his mouth and puffing out into the cool atmosphere. He looked a haggard old man, but listening to his voice with her eyes closed, she could still picture the old Uncle Henry from only a year or two ago; tall, handsome, and tough. Nothing at all like the ailing old man that now sat beside her. He continued, smiling. "Pretty nice indeed."

Dorothy stared at him, trying to burn every detail from this moment in time permanently into her mind. That way, after he was gone, she could go there and still be with him, hearing the birds, hearing his voice, rocking in the chair his hands had made…and it would never end. It would be hers to keep forever. She opened the book and began to read aloud.

About fifteen minutes had passed; Henry remained silent, soaking in the sun, the fresh air, and Dot's sweet voice.

"…Why do we seek this lurking beauty in skies, in woods, in poems, in drawings? Ah, because there we are safe;" Dorothy hesitated for a moment before continuing. "…there, we neither sicken nor die. I think we fly to Beauty as an asylum from the terrors of the finite future. We are made immortal by the kiss. We are immortal at once by the contemplation of beauty." A lump formed in her throat. She placed her bookmark in the crevices of Emerson's Early Works, noiselessly clapping the book closed.

"Ain't that something," Henry broke the silence. "Pretty true, I reckon. I think," his voice wavered and he stopped, holding back for a moment. "I think that must make me and Em immortal, then. Nobody ever kissed like that woman. When you kissed her, it was like everything you worried about went far away, just for that moment." Dorothy's face tightened, her eyes blurring with tears. He continued, "And boy, did she have a beauty to contemplate, both inside and out."

Her heart swelled. She turned her head from him, swiping the wetness from her eyes before revealing her face to him once more. Opening her mouth would result in a breakdown; she merely looked at the man, trying again to brand the moment deep into her memory.

"Love sure gives life significance. It sort of does make you feel immortal, like your love will carry on long after your body's gone." He coughed again into the rag. "You ever think about that, Dot?"

"I suppose."

"That Dr. Reve seems awfully fond of you…he came to me this morning, just before he left."

Dorothy's forehead wrinkled. "He comes to you every day; that's why he's here..." She stared at him, confused.

"No Dot, now pay attention..." He hacked uncontrollably into the rag for a few moments. She jolted out of her seat and kneeled in front of him, grappling for a clean rag at the foot of his chair and sliding it in place of the old one. After a moment he regained composure.

"He wants to marry you; he asked my permission…I said yes."

She squinted at him. "What?"

"You mean to say you have no idea how he feels about you?" His withered eyes crinkled as he spoke.

Her mouth hung open for a moment. "I've been focused on you…the circumstances aren't exactly conducive for a love affair."

"Conducive?" he chuckled, wiping the corner of his mouth with the rag. "You are too damned smart for your own good, kid."

She shook her head. "How could you approve of this?" Standing, she turned her back to him, taking a few absentminded steps before spinning around to face him again. "We barely know him! Yes, he's certainly proven to be a generous person, and he seems quite affable…no. No, of course not! This is ridiculous! How could he ask that of you? He doesn't know me; you're ill! No!" She fumed.

Henry choked once more, hacking into the rag. Recovering, he retorted. "Now just calm down, honey. I may not know him well, but know all I need to know. He's kind indeed, quite generous, he says he loves you…and, well, he can take care of you…"

"His affluence? _That's_ why you said yes?" Her jaw tightened. She didn't want to be angry with him, not with the end so near. "I don't need anyone; I can take care of myself. Please, Henry, stop worrying about me."

"I'll never stop worrying about you! And it's not just the money. The world is a rough place, Dot. After I go…well, there isn't anyone else here for you. I want to know you'll be loved. I want to know you'll be okay..." His eyes reddened. "This is your chance for that; you can still be happy…you can still have a family. Dot, I love you." He looked at the ground, rubbing his leg through the mass of blankets. Tears pooled in his eyes. "I can't leave until I'm sure you'll be alright. He's a good man. Accept him…please."

She kneeled before him once more, resting her head on the cushion of blankets over his knees. He laid a skeletal hand on her head and breathed deeply. She wept into the blankets, grasping at the emaciated hand atop her head and squeezing it tightly. She spoke through her sobs, the blankets muffling her voice.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

Tenderly, he lifted her face in his hands. Her eyes were swollen; hot tears had burned lines into her cheeks.

"Just say yes."

She placed her hands over his and turned her face, kissing his palm. Dazed, she shrugged her shoulders and breathed out the words he needed to hear.

"Okay…I'll say yes."

Smiling contentedly, he expelled a large sigh and patted her lightly on the cheek.

"You'll be so happy, You'll see..."

Still stunned by what had just taken place, she didn't respond. He continued.

"A coupla weeks ago I had a dream about you, Dot. You were somewhere…somewhere real beautiful. And there you were," Henry chuckled, then coughed into the rag. "Just a'rockin' away in that old hickory chair." He pointed a knobby finger at Dorothy's rocking chair. "The man you loved rocked right next to you in a chair of his own. You were happy, real happy. And well, the next day Alex showed up and I just knew he was going to play a role in that." He looked down at Dorothy with satisfaction before the coughing resumed.

Sniffing back the tears, Dorothy wiped her eyes again and changed the subject. "We need to get you inside." She lifted the blankets off of him and bent to support him as he stood, draping one of his arms over her shoulder.

Within half an hour, the coughing worsened severely. Henry could barely breathe, and the blood rapidly morphed from intermittent sprays into an unrelenting torrent. Keeled over in bed, he gasped between pockets of expelled blood. Dorothy spoke soothing words to him through her mask, keeping warm cloths pressed to his chest and clearing the blood as quickly as she could manage. She looked at the clock; Alex had left over an hour ago. _Why did I ask him for milk and eggs?_ She chided herself. Henry was in agony; his breathing increasingly faltered. _Alex, please! Hurry! _Five minutes later, the porch door creaked and slammed.

"Alex!?" she shouted behind her toward the kitchen. No response. She heard the faint shuffling of paper bags being placed on the table. "Alex!" she screamed. "Please!" Thudding footsteps grew increasingly louder as Alex dashed from the kitchen, through the hallway, and into the bedroom.

She turned to face the doorway, her hands shaking and coated in blood. Alex rushed to the bedside and looked into the basin resting in Henry's lap; inches of deep crimson fluid lapped against the sides of the bowl. He fell to his knees and dumped out the contents of a paper bag he'd been grasping onto the floor. Pushing up Henry's sleeve, he spoke tenderly but loudly over the coughing.

"Mr. Gale, I can give you two vials and it will ease your passing, but it may be another hour or more before it ends. I can give you four vials, and it'll take you right now. Tell me which you want."

Henry couldn't speak through the gasping and hacking. He stretched his arm out onto the bed; four extended fingers trembled at its end. Alex prepared the first vial and injected it into Henry's arm, quickly expelling the morphine. Removing it quickly but carefully and tossing it aside, he grabbed the next vial without delay and repeated the process.

Over Henry's coughing, Dorothy heard a pounding at the front door. She jerked her gaze to Alex who continued his work, ignorant of anything external to the task at hand. After the third vial, the coughing stopped. Henry's breathing was slow and labored. Dorothy removed the basin from his lap; Alex helped her to ease him to a reclined position.

The pounding repeated. Dorothy shot a desperate glance out the bedroom door and immediately turned back to Henry, determined not to lose a second of what was left of his life. He blinked slowly, his gaze fixed on her. Pulling off her mask, she held his hand to her cheek and lovingly stroked his head.

"This is the fourth dose..." Alex spoke softly. She didn't look away from Henry's face, but she nodded. As the needle went in, she gasped lightly through the tears and whispered.

"I love you Uncle Henry."

Henry smiled evenly at Dorothy and squeezed her hand as tightly as he was able. Blinking a final time, his light left him like water poured out of a glass.

Alex pressed his fingers against Henry's limp wrist, remaining still for several moments. He removed a stethoscope from his bag and after inserting the ear tips, slid the chestpiece underneath Henry's nightshirt, pausing again and looking down at the floor, counting slowly to ten in his head. He removed the chestpiece, pressed Henry's eyes closed with one hand, and detached the stethoscope from his ears.

"He's gone."

Dorothy stroked Henry's head once more and kissed his hand before placing it to rest at his side. A shuddered sob coursed through her chest, escaping through her lips. The pounding at the door echoed through the house a final time. Alex stood and exited the room in response to the clatter, leaving Dorothy to mourn. Moments later, he returned, a puzzled look on his face.

"Dorothy…there are about a dozen people out in front of your house."

Her heart faltered. _The auction. _Clamoring to a stand, she rushed from the room, Alex jogging close behind. She shoved open the front door, banging it loudly against the side of the house as she fled through the porch and out onto the grass.

"Thirty five hundred, thirty five hundred, do I hear thirty six? Thirty six thirty six thirty six thirty six hundred? Thirty five hundred, thirty six! Where do I hear thirty seven hundred? Thirty seven thirty seven thirty seven hundred where? Thirty seven there, and thirty eight, thirty eight…" An auctioneer buzzed energetically in front of a group of bidders.

"Wait!" Dorothy screeched. "I have the money! Please! Stop!" She rushed toward the auction but was intercepted by a stocky man in a cheap tweed suit. He held out a clammy hand, grabbing her by the arm and jerking her to a halt.

"Whoa there, miss!"

She gaped at him incredulously, jerking her arm out of his balmy grasp.

"Emily Gale I presume? You're too late, ma'am. Shoulda paid when you had the chance." Alex finally caught up to her, just in time to hold her back from attacking the man.

"Emily Gale is dead, you pretentious ass! I'm her daughter, and this house belongs to me! I have the money for the taxes; let me pass!"

Wide eyed, the man held his hands up in surrender. "I apologize, ma'am, I do. I wish there was somethin' that could be done, but it's simply too late now. Best thing I can suggest is to get on over there and place a bid. Good luck to you." Snorting, he waddled back to a small group of men clustered next to the same shiny black Ford that appeared the night the notice was tacked onto the door. Dorothy sprinted to the auctioneer.

"Forty two, forty two, and do I hear forty three, forty three where, forty three there, and forty four, forty four, forty four…" Dorothy turned back from the crowd, her eyes wide, hands pressed against her forehead. Helpless, she paced the grass in a panicked stupor.

"No, no, no…" She continued to pace, unaware of Alex's cautious approach.

"Dorothy…" He stood in front of her, taking her shoulders in his hands and crouching slightly to meet her gaze. "Say the word and this house remains yours."

Her eyes welled up again. "I can't ask you to do that…I could never pay you back."

"I wouldn't accept it if you tried. Dorothy…" He knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. "Marry me and I'll buy you a dozen houses, far finer than this one."

She paused, remembering her promise to Henry. Alex's eyes clung desperately to her, awaiting her response. Her heart felt as if it were about to stumble out of her chest. She stared back at the house. Henry's voice echoed in her memory.

_Just say yes._

Looking back at Alex kneeling on the wet ground in his fine suit, she mustered the gumption to speak.

"Yes, Alex. Yes, I'll marry you."

He grinned and stood, kissing her on the mouth. Turning toward the auctioneer, he cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted, "Twenty thousand dollars!"

The entire crowd fell silent, gaping at him in astonishment. The auctioneer pounded his gavel into the podium.

"Sold. for twenty thousand dollars to the handsome young couple!"

Chapter ten

"I said I would buy it for you; I didn't say we would live in it." Alex snapped as he pulled the car out of the cemetery grounds, turning out onto the road heading back to Gale Farm. Dorothy sat in silence, fingering the black fringe of the dress he'd bought her for Henry's funeral. She stared down at the ring. A dazzling art deco design with sapphire baguettes surrounding a giant center diamond smothered her finger.

"First we'll travel to my homeland, where we'll be married. Then perhaps after a few years I'll allow you to return for a visit, yes?"

Not responding, she stared out at the passing terrain. For the past few days there had been no rain; only one giant cloud smeared across the firmament, blocking the blueness of the sky and suffocating everything below.

"You spoiled child!" Alex broke the silence. "Isn't it enough that that filthy shoebox of a house still belongs to you? You need to live in it as well?" He slowed the vehicle to a crawl and maneuvered around a cow that stood obstinately in the middle of the road.

"Look at this place! Who would ever want to live here!? No," He sped up again upon passing the cow. "Once I take you away, Dorothy, you'll never be the same again. This place will mean nothing to you."

Almost immediately after purchasing the house, Alex's seemingly amiable nature began to steadily wash away, revealing beneath it a permanent and solid layer of cruelty. Dorothy feared being alone with him, and made every effort to appease him at all times in order to avoid finding out of what he may be capable.

"I'm sorry," she spoke meekly. "I just didn't expect to be leaving Kansas so soon…but I'm sure it'll be wonderful; an adventure." She forced a smile as she spoke. Turning her gaze once more to the clouds overhead, she willed them to reach down and choke her. After a few minutes, Alex pulled the car onto the bumpy path leading up to the farm.

"Damn!" he ejected, stomping on the breaks and sending Dorothy flying forward onto the dash. He turned to her, his eyes burning.

"What kind of car is this, Dorothy?"

Panicking, she conjured a quick response. "…A really nice one?"

His face grew red. "This is a Daniels D-19 Speedster! Do you have any idea how much a car like this cost!?" he screeched. "I will not damage it by continuously driving up and down this pathetic excuse for a road! Was your uncle too stupid to have the damned thing paved!?"

Frightened, she stammered back, "I…I'm sorry, Alex. I'll walk the rest of the way; it's fine, really."

He closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples. The car engine hummed, filling the silence. Sighing, he spoke again.

"Darling, I'm sorry. I'm simply anxious to get home; you understand, yes? My patience is wearing thin, and I've taken it out on you. Please, forgive me."

Bewildered by his unpredictable behavior, she responded swiftly, not wishing to stir him to anger once more. "Yes, of course..."

He leaned across the seat and kissed her stiffly. "Good. Now, hurry along. And only bring what you'll need on the train; your new wardrobe is already being transported to the ship. No fiancée of mine will be dressed in those ugly rags you farm girls call dresses."

Dorothy nodded blankly, slipping out of the running vehicle and trekking the rest of the way to the farmhouse. As she trailed through the grass toward the front of the house, the only part of her that could escape did; hot tears began to run down her face, dripping from her jaw onto the thick lawn below.

She would have to be quick; if she took too long, he would come in after her, fuming. Immediately, she headed for the bookshelf in the living room. Scanning the spines that lined its levels, she realized that trying to select only a few from among them would be impossible, like asking a mother to choose only one of her children. Most of them could be repurchased, anyway. Crouching, she selected the only one to which tangible sentiment was attached; a copy of _Our Girls: Stories and Poems for Little Girls. _Emily had gifted it to Dorothy when she turned eight; it was her first book of poetry. Inside was an inscription written in Em's smooth, curly handwriting:

_Dorothy,  
Happy Birthday my sweet girl! I've had this book stashed away for ten years now. Before you came to us I prayed every day the Lord would give me a daughter I could give it to. You are quite a precious treasure, young lady; a gift from God Himself! Every time you turn a page, it's a kiss from me to you! _

_ Love, _

_ "Aunt" Em._

Dorothy lovingly smoothed the inscription with her fingers, imagining a young, vibrant Emily's hands touching the same page so many years ago. Closing the cover and tucking the book under her arm, she dashed back to the kitchen, where she plucked several of Em's recipes from a pretty tin box on the countertop. The next stop: Em and Henry's bedroom.

Creaking the door open, she stepped into the chilly, dim space; she hadn't entered since the day Henry died. Her feet tapped against the wood floor as she crossed the room. Opening the armoire, she stared in at one of Henry's shirts. She took it by the sleeve and slid her fingers down its length, feeling the softness of the fibers. Leaning in, she bunched the fabric and pressed her face into it, inhaling deeply. It still smelled like him. Exhaling back into the fabric, it warmed with her breath. She took it off the hanger, tucking it under her arm along with the book.

"Come home, Dorothy."

Dorothy jerked behind her. A man's voice sounded clearly from within the room, but there was no one there. Her heart pounding, she stepped cautiously to the door and peered into the dark hallway. The door to her own bedroom was still closed. Returning again to the living room, she scanned the vicinity, seeing no one.

"Hello?"

She stepped toward the kitchen, poking her head through the archway; the area was empty. Perplexed, she shook her head and returned to the hall, venturing its length toward her bedroom. Inside, she fell to her knees by the bed and groped underneath it for a moment before sliding out an empty travel satchel. She unzipped it and gingerly laid the treasures inside. Standing, she crossed to the dresser where she yanked open the top drawer, pulled out a nightgown and some stockings and stuffed them into the bag. She approached her armoire, but upon remembering Alex's insulting her clothing, she pursed her lips and sighed. Walking to her nightstand, she took the framed picture of Em and Henry on their wedding day, sliding it into the bag. Nothing left now but to leave. She took one final lap around the house, saying goodbye.

Two minutes later, Dorothy trudged down the bumpy drive with the satchel slung across her shoulder, dragging her rocking chair behind her. Alex stood leaning against the car, his arms folded impatiently. As she approached, panting from lugging the chair around the back of the house and across the length of the terrain leading up to the vehicle, he snatched the bag from her shoulder and immediately began rooting through it. He sneered, rolled his eyes, and tossed the bag into the front seat. Turning to look at her, he scoffed.

"What are your plans for _that_?"

"I'm bringing it with me. Look," she began, lifting a folded blanket from the seat of the chair and shaking it out. "We can put this blanket over the back of the car to protect it, and the chair will slide right over the spare tire on the back, locking it in place; it's perfect." She approached the rear of the vehicle, attempting to lay the blanket in place.

"You honestly plan to drive into the train station with a broken down rocking chair tied to the back of the car like some common hillbilly?"

"It's not broken down," she began. "And yes, I do." She continued to position the blanket onto the back of the car. Alex grabbed the corner of the blanket and ripped it away, tossing it on the dirt behind him.

"Leave it. I'm sure no one wants to steal your dreadful little chair; it will be perfectly safe here. Now go put it back before I force you to leave it here in the driveway; we have a train to catch."

Dorothy boiled. Damning the consequences, she stared back defiantly.

"No."

His eyes widened. Stomping around the vehicle, he headed toward the rocking chair.

She ran back to it, grabbing one of its arms with both hands. Gaping fearfully as he advanced, she tightened her grip in anticipation of the struggle to come. He seized the back of the chair, easily wrenched it out of her grasp, and tramped toward one of the huge trees that lined the drive. Raising it above his shoulders, he dashed it against the thick trunk of the tree.

"No!" she screamed, running after him. He smashed it again. She grappled for the chair in between blows, shouting and crying. "Stop, Alex, stop it! Please!"

Out of breath, he dropped the shattered chair onto the ground and turned his glare to her. In his right hand he gripped a piece of wood which had broken off of the chair. He grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the massive trunk, choking her with the wooden piece.

"I could kill you right now and no one would ever miss you..."

She gasped under the pressure of the wood. He smiled vindictively at her before continuing.

"Lucky for you, however, I have other plans for you." He released the wood piece from her throat and tossed it into the shade of the tree. She sank to the ground, sputtering and struggling to breathe. He shook out his shoulders and straightened his tie. Smoothing his hair, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

"Now, darling," he softened his voice. Kneeling, he gripped her by the shoulders, helping her to stand. "See what you've done? You should have listened."

Her eyes swelled with tears; she held her hand to her throat, fixing her gaze at the pile of broken hickory wood on the ground.

"There, there," he began, leading her back to the car. He opened her door and pressed her into the seat, then strolled along the front of the car to the driver's side and entered the vehicle. Clearing his throat, he started the engine. He turned to Dorothy and stroked her hair. Silent, she focused her gaze again at the black fringe of her dress, her hands resting limply in her lap.

"That certainly was ugly, wasn't it? Let's not let it happen again." Alex yanked the car into gear and swiftly pulled out from the roadside. Two hours later, they pulled into Union Station in Topeka.

A white gloved valet opened Dorothy's door, bowing and extending a hand to her. Ignoring the gesture, she emerged from the vehicle, clutching her bag close to her side. Inside the huge white building, the constant clapping and shuffling of footsteps echoed off of unending marble floors and walls; glowing bulbs of electricity glared from within glass cloches hanging high in the ceiling.

She remained close to Alex, lightly holding onto his arm as they maneuvered through the dense crowd toward the ticket booth. She was both terrified and thrilled by the thought of losing him in the mass of bodies. Outside, they lingered under the covered veranda, waiting for the three o'clock train to New Orleans. She'd never ridden on a train before; the rapid, thunderous beasts startled her as they rumbled in and out of the station, screeching and puffing.

A huge black monster roared in front of them, clattering along the tracks immediately in front of the platform where Dorothy stood. She gasped, stumbling back in alarm. The windows of the machine flashed against the electric lights in the station, forming a long, moving slur of brightness. Before the locomotive began to slow to a stop, the apparition of a man materialized in the light of the windows. The radiance around him continued to flicker, but his figure remained unmoving.

"Dorothy," the same voice from the farmhouse echoed throughout the train station, drowning out even the clamor of the steam engines which roared and clanged so loudly around her. "Come home."

She turned to Alex, attempting to ascertain whether he had also heard the phantom voice. Oblivious, he stared down at the tickets in his hands, studying their details. She raised her glance to the train once more; by now it had slowed to a crawl along the tracks. Squinting into its windows, she saw nothing more than men and women in traveling suits scrambling for their luggage in anticipation of the stop. A man's voice rang into the atmosphere over an intercom:

"Ladies and gentlemen, the three o'clock train to New Orleans is now accepting all first class passengers. All first class passengers, please make your way to platform twelve boarding for the three o'clock route to New Orleans, Louisiana."

#

It had been four days since Dorothy and Alex boarded the small passenger ship traveling to…she still didn't know where Alex was from. By that point, she no longer cared. The only people she'd ever loved were dead, their bodies buried side by side in a muddy hill hundreds of miles away. All communication between herself and Alex had ceased. She spent most of her time locked in her room, sleeping or crying. Alex made great use of the ship's bar; in international waters, prohibition didn't exist. Every night since the ship had embarked, the telephone in her room rang at two o'clock on the nose, the bartender on the other end of the line asking her to come fetch her fiancé and escort him to his room.

It was three minutes to midnight. Accommodating her newly acquired nightly routine, she'd made a habit of remaining awake into the early morning hours. She sat at the vanity in her room, staring into its large oval mirror and brushing out her thick hair. She wore a long light pink silk nightgown, one of the many extravagant items Alex had purchased for her in anticipation of the journey. Heavy rain and wind from the storm outside beat against the small round windows of her quarters. A radio in the room murmured a constant flow of music, keeping her company.

Absentmindedly humming along with Van and Schenck's _Ain't We Got Fun?,_ she held her unfashionably long hair in one hand and stroked through it with the other using a silver plated brush, also a gift from Alex. A severe beating at the door startled her out of her grooming trance, causing her to drop the brush with a clatter onto the vanity. She paused, staring at the door.

"…Who is it?"

The pounding continued, louder. Fumbling toward the bed, she grabbed her matching pink silk robe, slipping her arms through it and tying it at the waist before approaching the door.

"…Alex?"

She crept toward the door, the pounding continuing relentlessly. She reached a hand toward the dead bolt, but frightened, settled on staying safely locked inside.

"Alex, you're drunk. Go to your room."

After a moment of silence, the handle of the door rattled. She caught her breath, her hand covering her mouth in frozen trepidation. She waited, nervously staring at the lock for several moments in the silence that ensued. Almost sure he'd left, she lowered her hand to her chest and breathed out, closing her eyes and turning again to the bed.

The door bashed open, crashing to the ground in front of its frame. She screamed; her legs faltered from the shock, sending her stumbling to the floor. Alex leaned into the doorframe, utterly inebriated.

"My sweet bride…why do you not answer the door for your love?" he slurred. Stepping over the door as he entered, he tripped and staggered into the vanity, almost knocking it over. The disturbance sent half the bottles and boxes atop it tumbling to the floor. Straining through the blur of drunkenness, he raised his gaze to her reflection in the mirror.

She remained on the floor, paralyzed. Her limbs were numb and refused to move despite the terror that pulsed through her, begging her to stand up and run.

"Are you frightened of me, Dorothy Gale?" The corner of his mouth raised in a half smile, her terror fueling him. He turned toward her, still balancing himself with one hand pressed to the vanity top. He tilted his head and grinned menacingly.

"So beautiful and fragile; like a wild bird caught in a cage. I must handle you delicately or I may become excited and snap you in half." He staggered toward her sluggishly, halting after a few steps. "Stand up then; come along my pretty little bird; rise."

Her entire body in a tremor, Dorothy shakily raised an arm to the top of the nightstand. Pressing her forearm against it, she prayed its solidity would provide her the ability to stand. Knees quaking, she rose.

"That's a good girl. Now then, isn't that better?" He shuffled toward her again as he spoke. Upon standing, she was able to see behind him in the vanity mirror; his hand was in his back pocket, fishing for something.

"It's so very difficult to wait for the things we want, isn't it?" He pulled his hand from the back pocket, clenching a small blade in his fist and keeping it tucked quietly behind his back. "And you, my dear…" Dorothy couldn't breathe. Eyes widened in fear, she set her gaze on her fiancé as he neared. Blindly, she felt around the surface of the table behind her for the brass lamp that sat atop it. "I've been waiting for you for a very, very long time."

Finally, her fingertips grazed the warmth of the glowing lamp; she eagerly gripped its base. In one motion, she lifted the heavy lamp from it surface and swung it at Alex's head, ripping its cord from the outlet that powered it. The glass lampshade shattered against his temple, sending him tumbling backward. She dropped the lamp and began running in a panic toward the doorway. Her foot slipped on the fallen door, sending her crashing down on top of it.

Just as she pressed her hands against it in an attempt to rise, he had reached her, grabbing her ankles with strong hands and yanking her back further into the room. He twisted her onto her back and fell to his knees overtop her, the knife gripped firmly in his hand. Dorothy pressed at his bleeding, oily face with her palms, forcing it to turn to the side. She kneed him in the groin and wrenched the knife from his hand, pushing his weight off of her. Trembling, she staggered to a stand and bolted again for the exit.

Alex screamed profanities at her as she stumbled over the fallen door and flew out into the hallway. They were two of only a few dozen passengers aboard the ship, and the only ones residing in the first class section; there was no one around to hear the disturbance. The decorative carpeted floor of the hallway scuffed against her bare feet as she sprinted its length toward the door that lead out to the deck of the ship.

She could hear him clamoring over the broken down entry to her room as she arrived at the end of the hall. She turned the knob of the door, but it wouldn't budge. Far down the length of the hall, he emerged from the doorway, stampeding toward her in a rage. She turned back to the knob; it was locked from the inside. Her fingers trembled as she turned the lock; she could feel the vibration of his pounding footsteps as he approached. Turning the knob and pressing her weight against the door, she flew out into the wrath of the storm outside.

A torrent of rainwater beat against the deck in heavy sheets, soaking her within seconds. Her long robe and nightgown clung heavily to her legs as she ran, her bare feet sliding along the deck with every rise and fall of the ship against the massive waves that rocked it. She reached a dead end of the first class sundeck; turning back was not an option. She scrambled up a miniature service ladder leading to the roof. At the top, she looked around and saw nothing but a small flat surface area; she was trapped.

"Dorothy!" Alex's voice was barely audible over the wind and rain. She peered down at the level below. He staggered along the deck, constantly slipping and smacking to the ground. Even weaponless, he was terrifying.

"I'm coming to find you, little bird! We have a wave to catch! Tweet, tweet!" He laughed hysterically, stumbling along the length of the deck toward the dead end where the ladder was located. He lost his footing again, his knees whacking hard against the floor.

"Dorothy."

She caught her breath. The same voice from the farmhouse and the train station sounded from inside the thunder that rumbled in the atmosphere over the ship. The voice was loud, yet not fearsome. It enveloped her, pulling her into its warmth and igniting within her an intense desire for something she couldn't perceive.

"Dorothy Gale!" Alex screeched again; this time his words were glazed with panic.

"Dorothy," the voice repeated through the thunder. "Come home."

A strange new kind of thunder rumbled in the distance; never ceasing, its roar grew increasingly louder. She squinted through the blackness of the storm in the direction of the sound. Paralyzed, she observed as a colossal, screaming wave of water quickly grew to a towering height above the ship. Its earsplitting bellow grew in volume as it hurtled onto the craft, smashing it deep into the ocean below.

Chapter eleven

Bright, sparkling daylight saturated the meadow. A delicate, fresh current of air laced with the scent of honeysuckle wafted across the landscape, tickling tall grasses and deep pink buttercups as it passed. Dorothy Gale lay in the deep foliage, drenched and unmoving.

"Dorothy."

The man whose voice she'd been hearing stood in the midst of the empty, eternal blackness that surrounded her consciousness, his person the only illuminated object. A few paces away, he stared into the nothingness that enclosed them, blind to her presence. She drew nearer, softly gliding over the void without taking a step.

Pausing in front of him, she examined his features. Although tall and lean, his body was noticeably strong. His deep gold hair was haphazardly combed back in a handsome muss. His features were long and sharp; brilliant green eyes tapped back and forth into the void, as if searching for something precious that had been lost.

Though she had never seen him before, there was something pleasantly familiar about his presence. Smiling, she reached her hand to his face, lightly running her thumb over his warm, stubbled cheek. He immediately grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He breathed out a contented sigh and, laughing lightly, turned his face and called out into the darkness.

"She's back!"

His words pitched life into her body. She jerked to her side, expelling the water from her lungs. Grasping at the warm earth beneath her, she closed her eyes as she struggled to breathe, gasping for air between irrepressible coughing and sputtering.

After several moments, she caught her breath, desperately heaving in buckets of the meadow air, her face still bent toward the earth. She twisted onto her back again, squinting and drawing her forearm to her eyes against the brightness of the sun. She lay still for a moment, her chest rising and falling slowly as oxygen once again coursed regularly through her body.

The threat of death having passed, she suddenly became conscious of the glaring sunlight from which she'd mechanically shielded her eyes moments earlier. Had the ship survived the tidal wave? Sliding her forearm away from her eyes, they pinched shut against the blinding sunshine, her head turning to the side and pressing into the tall grass. Startled by the sensation, she jerked back, forcing her eyes open to a squint. Her focus eventually sharpened onto the long, wispy blades of grass that vibrated back and forth in the breeze, inches from her face. She reached her hand forward, running her fingers along their bodies. Physically exhausted, she pressed her hands into the dirt, shakily pushing herself up to a sitting position. Her eyes relaxed bit by bit as they adjusted to the blinding light of the meadow. Lush, brilliantly green grasses cascaded in every direction, flowing up and down like sheets hung on the line to dry on a breezy day.

Catching her breath in remembrance of Alex, she etched a nervous gaze along the span of the landscape; just like the ocean and the ship, he too had disappeared entirely. Her still soaking hair and nightgown were the only clues opposing her supposition that she may in fact be dead. Still perplexedly gaping at her surroundings, she stood. She raised her eyes to three blazing suns which hung high against a backdrop of perfect, unrelenting blue.

There were two tall hills blocking her view of the rest of the land; one rose far off to her left, the other directly in front, sucking in the heat of the suns and radiating their warmth back out toward her, beckoning her to ascend. She drew nearer, the verdant terrain bowing under her bare feet with each step.

As she climbed, a faint green glow began to emanate from behind the summit of the hill. Intrigued, she jogged faster up the knoll, desperate to observe the source of the strange emerald light that appeared to increase in brilliance with every step that brought her closer to the top. Panting, she clamored to the apex without ceasing. Conquering the knoll, she staggered, pressing her hand to her chest in astonishment as she absorbed the massive, shimmering skyline of Emerald City.

Exotically shaped buildings of every height jutted from the foundation of the city, each one a glistening shade of deep emerald. In the rear center of the metropolis stood a shining palace, emerald in color as the rest, yet far more vibrant and imposing. Hovering high in the air above the palace was a strange golden symbol that flickered in and out of view; a brief, horizontal line with a symbol above it that looked like an uppercase 'O' and 'Z' merged together with a simple arch hovering overhead.

The alluring symbol sparkled in the sunlight as it flashed on and off over the palace, almost as if in code…She stood motionless atop the hill, arrested by the image. After studying it for several moments, her eyes furrowed. A long pause, followed by two flashes. Three long pauses. Flash, pause, flash. Pause, pause, pause. Pause. Flash flash flash flash. Pause flash pause pause…Morse code? Morse code spelling…Dorothy?

Her heart skipped. She shook her head, focusing once again on the flashing and pausing, certain she was mistaken. As a child she was obsessed with Morse code, her name being the first thing she'd learned to decipher. She and Emily would leave secret messages for one another around the house in play, often coding jokes or little notes of affection. She stared, concentrating at the message as it completed itself three more times against the periwinkle backdrop of the sky. Its translation was unmistakable: DOROTHY.

She inhaled carefully through her mouth, trying to slow her heart. The voice from the farmhouse, the apparition at the train station, the man in the vision…could he possibly be real, and here? Was he summoning her now with this symbol as he had with his voice in her hallucinations?

She released her breath, closing her eyes and conjuring a mental picture of his face. There was something so comfortable about his eyes. She was certain she didn't know him, yet she craved his presence, like that of an old and dear friend. Her yes wandered back to the flashing code. The name "Dorothy" repeated over and over above the palace, desperately calling out to her, inviting her in. Standing alone at the top of the hill in her damp silk gown, she whispered back.

"I'm coming."

The journey into the city took much longer than she'd anticipated. By the time she reached its perimeter her gown had been dried by the sun and breeze, but her hair was still a half wet mess. Completely self conscious of her bare feet and nightgown, she carefully scanned each street before trodding its length, plotting the best way to maneuver so as not to be seen. With every street crossed deeper into the city's center, she became increasingly astounded by the complete peculiarity of its populace.

At first she supposed it must be some strange kind of holiday in which folks dressed in costume until she was approached by a creature with a man's body and the head of a fish who asked her the time. Startled by his obviously genuine veneer of scales and slime, she yelped, jumping backward. The fish man in turn jumped back, surprised by her strange reaction to such an innocent question. He looked behind his shoulder at whatever it may have been that caused her alarm, but saw nothing. He repeated the question, but she only gawked back in silence, unable to speak. After waiting several moments without receiving a reply, he very eloquently remarked on her impertinence and stomped off in a huff.

Dorothy padded along emerald sidewalks in her bare feet, sticking close to buildings and walking through empty alleyways whenever possible. Surprisingly, her shoeless feet, nightgown, and damp hair weren't what made her feel self conscious among the crowded masses of marvelous and strange creatures that surrounded her, conducting their daily business; it was her humanness.

In this extraordinary place, humans were very clearly the minority. She saw only a small number of them in the crowds, and even a few of _those_ were indeed quite curious creatures to behold; at a nearby produce stand, a lady in a dark purple gown argued with a vendor over the price of a melon, holding it in her hand and flailing it back and forth in her grip as they squabbled. Half of her face was made of what appeared to be clock cogs, springs, and dials. Upon further inspection, Dorothy found that her left arm was also made entirely of metal work, and when she moved, her limbs staggered and jerked slightly as if they were in need of a good oiling.

Another seemingly human creature was a man who passed on a tall, slow moving contraption that appeared to be a kind of bicycle. Its front wheel was nearly six feet tall, and in its center was an animated metal sculpture: a giant eye that blinked with every half rotation of the wheel. He must have noticed Dorothy staring, for he shouted down to her, waving.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" He removed his hat and nodded.

Dorothy nodded back, smiling awkwardly. She kept her gaze on him as he passed; the back of his head was not the back of a head, but the face of a sharp fanged grizzly bear.

Continuing her journey to the palace, she attempted to keep her focus on the ever nearing icon which persisted in its pausing and flickering high in the heavens above the city, but was repeatedly diverted by the oddities that encircled her: Little people, giants, creatures made of every material from painted porcelain to brightly colored fabric, even animals and plantlike beings that wore clothing and walked on hind legs, laughing and conversing with one another as any human would.

The nearer she drew to the palace, the stronger the craving to meet the one whose voice she'd been hearing developed. Thinking it best to avoid distraction, she darted into a mostly vacant back lane which stretched in length almost directly to the outskirts of the grounds surrounding the palace.

Having traveled just over half its measure, she instinctively stopped, lingering in the area in anticipation of…she didn't quite know of what. Almost immediately she heard the approaching pounding of heavy stone coming from both directions. Without thinking, she darted into the narrow space between a large garbage bin and the green stone wall of the building it serviced. The clashing of stones grew louder as several gargantuan limestone figures clomped into the middle of the lane.

"Have there been any reports from the hillside?"

"None; she must have made it into the city."

"Keep looking, and spread out. When you find her, try to avoid the appearance of a struggle; get her alone if you can. We don't want our dear young king catching wind of her kidnapping and starting an investigation. Nice and clean and quiet. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now go!"

The pounding spread back out into the directions from which it came and after a few moments the lane was empty once again. Dorothy remained crouched behind the trash bin, her shoulder leaning against the cool, vivid green wall of the building. _Reports from the hillside_? Was he referring to the same hillside from which she'd just come? Her heart thudded anxiously. They couldn't possibly have meant her; no one in this strange place would even know who she was, let alone desire to kidnap her. And yet the twinkling signal in the sky clearly spelled out her own name... If the man from the vision knew of her, could others as well? She scanned the shaded ground in front of her as her thoughts raced in consideration of the conversation on which she'd spied. Despite her attempts to reason with herself that she was safe, she traveled the remainder of the road in heightened caution, wary of anything stone.

The signal was exhilaratingly close overhead, and as she neared the palace, the denseness of the city began to increasingly dilute. She paused for a moment, admiring the building from a distance; it was an astonishingly beautiful thing to behold. Unlike the murky, lower quality stone that paved the roads of the city, the walls of the palace were a solid, glimmering emerald. Sparkling spires and towers were littered among its top floors, and in the center of them was a colossal, solid gold symbol of an O and Z intertwined as one. Pillars, window frames and carvings, all dripping with gold, beautifully accentuated the emerald walls. A large pool stretched out along the lush, well groomed terrain in front of it, reflecting every glimmer of gold and precious stone. Still cautious of the limestone men, she glanced behind and, seeing nothing, hurried her pace once again toward her destination.

Gradually, large shady trees and long stretches of grass began to replace tall buildings, and birdsongs substituted the din and clatter of vehicles, voices, music, and footsteps. The gardens outside the palace grounds were breathtaking. Unable to resist the temptation, she knelt to a rich, blossoming rose and closed her eyes, breathing in its romantic, syrupy bouquet.

"Young lady,"

Taken by surprise, she popped her eyes open from behind the crimson petals.

"Pardon me, but I believe you've dropped something."

She stood erect; fear washed into her. A tall limestone figure towered in the garden, only a dozen yards from where she stood. She stammered back.

"I haven't lost anything, thank you." She turned her back, walking away briskly.

"Wait!" he called after her.

Still walking, she turned to look behind; he trailed her, matching her pace. Panicking, she broke out into a run. Thick grass muffled the rapid pounding of the heavy stone footsteps that chased after her.

Spotting a grove of huge willow trees in the distance, she abandoned the garden path and bolted in its direction. Despite the stone man's large stature, she was able to maintain the space between them, losing him as she darted into the dense, flowing cloak of willows.

The trees were so close together that their long branches formed a thick mass, blocking her view entirely. She batted at the stems, trying to navigate her way through the maze of shady green. Trunks appeared and disappeared from her view as she maneuvered through the jungle of branches surrounding her. She caught her breath as the rumble of heavy stone approached.

Fearing that running would more easily give away her location, she froze in place behind a particularly enormous trunk. She hugged it, pressing her forehead against its brittle, chunky bark as she focused on breathing as silently as possible. Immediately her forehead crinkled against the tree's rough skin.

She noticed an image carved into the bark directly below her face and, pulling her head from the trunk, crouched slightly to examine it more carefully. The image exactly matched the one hovering above the palace, blinking her name. It wasn't easily noticeable, as it was hand carved into bark that was already heavily furrowed with cracks, but it was there. Instinctively, she placed her hand against it and pushed.

Promptly and without sound a large panel in the tree slid open, revealing a dim, hollow interior. Wasting no time, she ducked her head and stepped into the cavity. As soon as both feet touched the floor of the hollowed space, the panel noiselessly slid shut again and a trap door beneath her gave way, sending her sliding through the darkness toward a fast approaching opening below.

Seconds later, her body was expelled from within the shaft of the secret slide out onto the cool dirt floor of an underground passageway. A pair of deep green boots stood inches from her face, and a green glove embossed with golden threads bearing the O and Z symbol shot into view, offering her assistance to stand. She craned her neck to look upward, squinting her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the passageway.

"Miss Dorothy Gale, I presume?" the voice of the glove bearer spoke cheerfully. "Welcome home!"

Chapter twelve

The underground tunnel was quite spacious; lanterns emitting a soft, green glow hung along the walls, lining its distance end to end. Three soldiers stood at attention a few feet away, their regalia matching that of the man who had addressed Dorothy when she fell from the trap door slide only seconds before. A tall backed, wicker wheel chair stood next to them, its wheels lightly dusted with dirt from the floor of the passage.

The first soldier took her by the hand, helping her to rise. Bowing, he introduced himself.

"Captain Alfred Miles, my lady."

The buttons of his uniform gleamed in the light of the lanterns as he straightened. He extended his arm, referencing the others who stood near the wheelchair. "These are Lieutenants Hemlock, Brevis, and Parero." The soldiers bowed.

Still somewhat traumatized by her narrow escape from the stone man and instantaneous transport into a hidden underground passage, she attempted to smile and nod politely. By this point she was no longer surprised at strangers knowing who she was, and was frankly too exhausted to care; these uniformed men clearly didn't intend her any harm. She had made it to the palace and therefore, with any luck, to the man in the vision. She would save her questions for him.

"Right this way, please." He led her to the chair, motioning for her to sit. Embarrassed, she laughed.

"This really isn't necessary, Captain. I'm quite able to walk, thank you."

"I'm afraid I'm not permitted to relent in this matter, Miss Gale. His Majesty has personally prearranged every detail necessary for your comfort, and has held me individually responsible for ensuring the execution of said details." Again, he gestured to the wheelchair.

She stood still, narrowing her eyes at the Captain. "His Majesty?"

"Yes, Miss." Without further conversation, he waved determinedly again at the chair, raising his eyebrows slightly in eagerness. She sighed; the chair did look comfortable, and her feet ached after the long shoeless walk through the city. Too tired to argue, she shrugged.

"Alright."

She couldn't surmise as to whether the chair was actually as luxuriously comfortable as it seemed, or if her severe mental and physical fatigue made it so. Its back and seat were cushioned, and one of the guards draped a heavenly soft emerald colored blanket over her. The wheels of the chair rumbled soothingly over the smooth dirt floor of the passageway, creating a soft, hypnotic echo inside the tunnel walls.

The soldiers walked the length of the passage in silence. Her eyes began to grow heavy as she stared down the endless walkway at the soft green lamps that moved along its walls. They grew larger and larger as they neared, then disappeared behind her. The blanket nestled against her skin, trapping in warmth and lulling her to sleep.

#

Dorothy inhaled a deep, contented breath. Her eyes still closed from sleeping, she exhaled, nuzzling the pillow under her head and stretching her limbs. Her lashes fluttered open.

Faintly startled by her unfamiliar surroundings, she quickly remembered where she must be; inside the emerald palace! Her heart jumped at the thought of the man from the vision possibly residing within the walls of this very place. She began ruminating about him nervously. Perhaps he was only just that; a vision and a fictitious third party to everything she'd experienced in this new, strange place. She thought again of the dream on the knoll and his brilliantly green, tender eyes; he felt so real. She sat up in bed, admiring her surroundings.

The bed was beautiful; its huge silver headboard was thickly carved with floral images along its edges, and in the center was a giant dahlia. The walls of the room were painted a light, dusty violet, accented by intricate silver crown and base molding. Silver plated furniture, mirrors, and accents were scattered throughout the room. A massive domed ceiling loomed overhead, coated entirely with mother of pearl. Hidden lights glowed inside its outer edges, drawing out the rich cream and silver hues of the shell. After a moment, the door to the room opened slightly and a cat's head poked in. Pleased by the sight of the animal, she called out to it.

"Here, kitty kitty."

Crouching lower onto the bed and scratching at the silky duvet, she invited it over for a pet. The cat entered, sauntering toward her.

"I beg your pardon?"

Dorothy's eyes widened.

"You are a cheeky one, aren't you?" The cat crossed the room and leapt onto the bed. She was white with a dark tail and matching dark splotches on her back and head; she had six toes on each of her feet.

Dorothy began to wonder if there were anything in this extraordinary world that wouldn't surprise her. "I apologize, miss kitty." she replied.

"George." the cat responded, raising her hind leg and scratching at her ear.

"George?" she echoed the cat, confused.

The cat stopped scratching and looked up at her disdainfully. "My name, you silly thing, is George."

"That's a boy's name!" Dorothy blurted out unthinkingly. Immediately she regretted her words. Glowering, the cat approached the head of the bed where she sat.

"Have _you_ a name, or should I simply refer to you as 'here lady, lady'?"

Amused by George's sarcasm, she smirked as she replied, "I'm Dorothy."

"Well, Dorothy," George began., "Let's start over, shall we? My name is George and I am in desperate need of a good scratch." She rubbed her face against Dorothy's hand, prompting her to begin working. Dorothy rubbed and scratched at her head, neck, and shoulders, sending her into a frenzy of purring. A knock sounded at the door.

"Well, well!" A plump, middle aged woman in a maid's uniform scuttled into the room, grinning as she neared the bed. "Miss Dorothy Gale, here in OZ and wide awake!"

_OZ? _Dorothy's brow puckered; she stared down at the bed, silently mouthing the word. There was something about it that absorbed her interest, invoking a feeling similar to that of when she heard the voice of the stranger in her visions. Upon seeing the cat, the maid frowned and flapped her hands at her.

"George! Shoo!"

George hissed at the maid and flew from the bed, trotting swiftly out of the room.

"That cat!" the woman fumed, swiping its fur off of the bed. She turned again to Dorothy, clasping her hands together and smiling once more.

"Now! Up, up, up!" She hastily peeled the covers off of Dorothy and took her hands, helping her out of the gigantic bed.

Dorothy's feet touched the coolness of shining hardwood floors. She still wore the now dirty and wrinkled pink nightgown, but the robe had been removed. The maid scurried over to the high windows on the other side of the room and thrust the curtains open, flooding the space with light.

"Fifteen hours! I never saw anyone sleep that long in all my life! You must have had quite a journey in getting here to be that sleepy!" She giggled to herself, tromping back over toward Dorothy and passing her on her way to the other side of the room. Her features could be seen more clearly in the light; she had dark auburn hair and a sweet, round face.

"Oh, His Majesty has been absolutely chomping at the bit! Every hour, 'Eudora, is she still asleep?', 'Eudora, go and check on her, will you?'" She was now rooting through a linen closet, her back turned to Dorothy who stood behind her, fully alert at mention of the king.

Abruptly, the maid threw her hands in the air and ejected, "Oh! For heaven's sake!" Turning around, she flew back at Dorothy. "I never introduced myself! How very rude!" She smiled happily, bowing to Dorothy.

"I am Eudora Finchbottom, my dear. Please, call me Eudora!" She rose, heading back to the linens she'd dropped into the closet moments earlier, continuing, "And if there is anything you need at all," she rotated back to Dorothy "_Anything,"_ then back to the linens, "just simply ring and I shall at once be at your disposal!" Chuckling, she placed her hand at Dorothy's back and led her to a nearby door which she opened, ushering her inside.

Until that moment, Dorothy had never fathomed the concept of such a thing as an opulent bathroom. At the farmhouse their running water and indoor toilet seemed a luxury to her, but the room in which Dorothy now stood was clearly designed not only to facilitate necessity, but to provide its user with an experience in ultimate extravagance. The room was entirely encased in white marble; a giant, light blue stained glass dome fused with colorful cut glass images of birds and flowers covered the ceiling. A fire blazed in a marble hearth along the wall, and in the center of the room was a very large bath, four towering columns of carved gold surrounding it. The bath had already been drawn; its sparkling, steaming waters begged her to enter.

Eudora wasted no time getting Dorothy into the bath. Seeing the bruises Alex had created around Dorothy's neck, she clicked her tongue, shaking her head but saying nothing. As Dorothy soaked, the energetic maid hurried to and fro, preparing the things she would need to dress for her meeting with the king. Despite the soothing comfort of the bath, her stomach was knotted with anxiety. She waved her arms just under the surface of the bath, watching their image flicker under the rolling water.

"Eudora?"

The maid popped her head into the room. "Yes, dear?"

"What does he look like, the king?"

Eudora clopped into the bathroom and sat at the edge of the tub, dipping a soft washcloth into the steamy water.

"From what I'd heard, I was under the impression the two of you were old friends." she exclaimed, puzzled by Dorothy's question.

"No…I've never met him."

The two exchanged confused glances.

"Well," Eudora sighed, staring up at the stained glass ceiling and letting her shoulders drop in a brief moment of relaxation. "He certainly is a handsome man…" She turned to Dorothy and, taking the cloth, scrubbed at her shoulders. "He's tall and strong, light hair, gorgeous eyes!"

Dorothy's heart skipped. "Green eyes?"

"Why, yes!" Eudora replied happily. "Indeed," she continued, "He was always good looking, but of course is much more so in human form." Looking at her watch, Eudora gasped. "My gracious! Eight fifteen already! He'll be expecting you at nine!" She dashed across the room, returning with an oversized towel, holding it out at the side of the tub for Dorothy.

"And we still have to do something with that hair!"

Dorothy exited the warmth of the bath and stepped into the towel. Wrapping it around herself and looking down at her leg, she rubbed it dry as she replied, "More so in human form? As opposed to what?" She looked up; Eudora was gone, already shuffling through the doorway into bedroom to fetch a dress.

#

"I can't stand this waiting!" Nick paced in front of the massive dining table which was strategically littered with the palace's finest breakfast china and silverware. A huge spray of mixed flowers anchored itself in the center of the table, its fresh sweetness seeping out into the room. Aaron and Glinda were seated, attempting to feign tranquility. Looking up from the newspaper upon which he couldn't force himself to concentrate, Aaron smirked excitedly at his keyed up friend.

"It is thrilling, isn't it? It's been so long…I can't believe she's still alive!"

"Ninety years long!" Nick nervously brushed his shining palms against his pants as he paced, wiping away liquid tin perspiration and leaving a light dusting of shimmering moisture in the fabric. "Ninety seven years old and still kicking! That's my girl!"

"It almost feels like we get a little piece of Ozma back, doesn't it?" Glinda smiled, lightly clinking her china cup and saucer of coffee onto the edge of the table as she spoke. A throat cleared at the other end of the room, causing all three Ozians' heads to twist simultaneously in its direction. A bald manservant entered, bowing to the group.

"Your Majesty," He swung his arm in the direction of the door, maintaining his bent stature. "Miss Dorothy Gale."

Aaron stood and stared anxiously at the doorway, his heart spinning. The three friends floated in a breathless state, fixed on the entrance to the dining hall as a wicker wheelchair silently rolled across its threshold. A strikingly attractive young woman sat in the chair, her arms folded objectionably. She craned her glance upward to the manservant.

"_Now_ may I please get out of this thing?"

The manservant removed the blanket from her lap and took her hand, permitting her to stand.

"Thank you." she ejected scornfully, then turned to the three friends. Her eyes immediately fixed on Aaron, the corner of her mouth tugging up in a half smile.

"It's you."

Aaron's tongue was paralyzed. Where was the elderly woman they'd expected? The young lady before him was exceptionally lovely; her long, thick hair was fine and dark; soft shafts of light shined through the tall windows in the dining hall, revealing tones of deep copper. She stared at him with little Dorothy's olive green eyes. It was her, indisputably. He swallowed.

"You recognize me?"

His words flooded her face with gladness. She beamed.

"Yes."

Laughing under his breath, Aaron jogged toward her and grabbed her close with both arms, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly as he embraced her. Alarmed by his behavior, she pushed him back, her face twisted in confusion. He took a step back, puzzled by her cold rejection. Before either could speak, Nick and Glinda fast approached, buzzing with excitement.

"What in the hell is this?" Nick laughed, circling Dorothy in examination. "You're so young! Good grief, and beautiful, too! He grabbed her hand, kissing her on the forehead. Wrapping his arms around her in a hug, he lifted her up off of the ground. "We've missed you, kid! Unbelievable! Glinda, look at this young thing! It's really her!"

"My dear, you are an absolute vision." Glinda spoke sweetly as she embraced her. Pulling back to look more closely at her face, she halted abruptly.

Dorothy's mouth hung open slightly, her countenance steeped in bewilderment. All three friends stood motionless around her now, exchanging awkward glances. Dorothy stumbled back a step, her eyes shifting nervously from one foreign character to the next. Attempting to hamper the trembling in her hands, she wrenched them together in front of her.

"I…I'm sorry, do I know you?"

Both men looked to Glinda; her face softened. Staring into Dorothy's nervous eyes, she smiled piteously.

"She doesn't remember us."

"But you said you recognized me..." Aaron interjected, staring eagerly at her.

"Well, yes…you're the man in the visions I've been having. You've been trying to communicate with me, haven't you? That's why I'm here, isn't it?" She stared back absorbedly, waiting for an explanation.

For months, Aaron had been attempting to make contact with Dorothy by way of a charmed mirror of Glinda's. The Nome King's belt and a charmed picture frame had once been in storage off of the palace grounds and would have been of incredible value to them in both finding and contacting her, but they had been stolen about thirty years ago; rumor had it they ended up on the black market, but Ozma was unable to recover them. Short on options, Glinda brought the mirror out of the back of her closet at the beginning of their quest to find Dorothy.

In OZ, the mirror worked perfectly, but trying to contact someone from another world was difficult. Like an old radio on a bad frequency, it worked only sporadically, and the person on the communicating end would never know when it worked, as all he would ever see in return was his own reflection. The party on the other end may or may not receive the message; and even if they did, they may not know how to reply.

Aaron spent hours in front of it each day, calling Dorothy's name and staring at his reflection in the glass, desperate for some sign she'd heard him. Every moment he was away from the mirror he was terrified of missing the only chance he may have had for the opportune time to send communication, and every time he was in front of the mirror, calling her name, he was equally afraid she may not even be alive to be able to hear it. There were many times he'd wanted to relinquish, but Glinda lovingly urged him to continue, reminding him of Ozma's dying words. Yesterday afternoon was the first time he'd received any kind of response; calling Dorothy's name yet again, staring blankly into the glass, he suddenly felt the warm sensation of a phantom hand on his face.

Thrilled at the hope she may have returned, he immediately ordered soldiers out into the city to look for her, as well as others to stand watch at every entrance to the palace, including the one she'd designed in the willow tree when she was a girl. He remembered that day clearly; it was the same day she'd asked to go back to Kansas the second time. She made him promise he'd build it for her, telling him she would use it again someday.

The Morse code signal was his own idea; he had taught the code to both Dorothy and Ozma after finding it in some old paperwork in the Wizard's archives. Knowing it to be significant to her, he began building the signal soon after Ozma's funeral. Once he communicated his orders to the militia, he quickly flipped the switch, sparking the golden symbol to life. It swiftly began its work, spelling out Dorothy's name over and over in the sky above. After a few hours of staring expectantly out the window at the city skyline, Captain Miles knocked on the door, informing him that Miss Gale had arrived safely and was presently fast asleep in her room.

Aaron promptly called Glinda and Nick, elatedly sharing the news of Dorothy's homecoming. Nick was at his chateau in the West Country at the time, in the middle of his weekly polish. Without delay, he abandoned the appointment and rushed to the palace. Half covered in polishing cream, he burst into the library where Aaron resided, stammering excitedly and inquiring as to her whereabouts.

Despite the protests of the servants, the threesome declined retiring for the night, going nearly mad waiting for their old friend to awaken. Knowing her to be elderly, they endeavored to be patient, but after the sun had finally risen, each minute of anticipation grew more and more torturous. They spent the entire night reminiscing over memories of the little girl they had all cherished, speculating as to what had become of her life and what she would be like as an aged woman.

Of all the things Aaron had anticipated from her return, her not remembering OZ was not included. He'd expected her not to recognize him in human form, and even her youthful appearance, though shocking, was something he could overcome. But how could she not remember? He marveled at her face; how young she seemed! And yet, how old! Though her round cheeks and short stature had vanished, the same Dorothy Gale stood before him…the girl who once told him she loved him most of anyone…and she didn't remember him. His heart sank.

"I think it might be a good idea for everyone to just sit down and have breakfast." Glinda interrupted coolly, ushering Aaron to his seat at the head of the table. Crushed, he kept his gaze on Dorothy as he mechanically responded to Glinda's shepherding hands, walking to the chair and taking his seat. Nick wordlessly followed suit, taking his seat beside Aaron. He rested his elbow on the table and rubbed his chin with his fingers, staring perplexedly into the crystal glass at his setting, then back up at her.

"Dorothy dear, please, have a seat." Glinda perched onto her chair and patted the seat next to her. Dorothy looked back at the doorway for a moment, possibly establishing whether it would be a good idea to bolt from the room, but turned around again swiftly, scanning the floor in thought before returning her gaze to the threesome at the table. Charily, she approached, lowering herself into the chair next to Glinda who had already shaken out her napkin and was placing it in her lap. A maid entered with a tray of bowls of fruit, placing one in front of her, then moving through the rest of the party. Several moments of uncomfortable silence passed before Glinda shifted in her seat.

"Dorothy?"

Dorothy looked up from picking at her meal, setting her eyes on the woman. Her face was mature and, though worn with age, positively beautiful. Even pulled back, her hair was exquisite; long, wavy red locks streaked with bands of silver. The way she looked at Dorothy was so familiar, so reassuring. Yes, there _was_ something familiar about her, about each of the people in the room. Desperate to make the connection, she shook her head faintly as she kept her gaze on the woman, exhaling evenly through her nose. Calmly, Glinda went on.

"My name is Glinda. Do you know where you are?"

Dorothy quickly remembered the first words Eudora had spoken to her that morning.

"…OZ?"

Nick and Aaron straightened in their seats, grinning hopefully at one another and then at her, leaning in closer over their bowls of fruit. Glinda remained unruffled. She smiled gently, nodding.

"That's right. You and I first met here in OZ, a long time ago. You were only a little girl at the time. You came to my castle which is just south of here, in the Quadling country. Do you know who was with you when we met that day?"

Dorothy's eyes shifted back to the table. Unable to procure an answer, she looked up again, shaking her head.

"No."

Glinda's eyes crinkled as she smiled, turning her head to the gentlemen at the table. Two sets of eyes gazed back at her in anticipation, one a dazzling emerald green, the other entirely composed of shining metal. Glinda nodded at Nick, giving a silent order to speak.

"Oh," The metal man cleared his throat. "Well," he started, leaning back in his chair and extending his arms to showcase himself. "I'm Nick, er, Nicholas Chopper. But you always just called me Nick…" He looked at Glinda ineptly, not having anticipated having to make a speech. He was incredibly good looking, with strong shoulders and a charming smile. Though fully clothed, he seemed as though his entire body were made of metal; only his immaculately shining neck, head and hands were exposed.

Exhaling, he continued. "Boy," he laughed, "I was trapped in those woods for damn near a year before you came along.. A rainstorm had rusted my joints so badly I couldn't move at all! Then one afternoon, there you were, like an angel from heaven, a little girl come to rescue the big strong woodsman!" He laughed again, jabbing the other man in the side. "Aaron was with you." The king smiled kindly at her.

_Aaron_. Dorothy rolled the name around in her mind; it was the only one that didn't strike any kind of feeling. The tin man continued his speech.

"The two of you oiled and bent me back into working order! Well, lord, after that…that was when the real fun began. You tamed a lion that nearly killed the three of us, remember that Aaron? Man, that thing was ferocious! You just walked right up to it and smacked it on the nose, calling it a coward! Ha! I'd never seen anything like it in my life; that monster followed you everywhere after that, just like a puppy. As if that weren't impressive enough, you single handedly destroyed the only remaining threat of danger in OZ, the Witch of the West. You melted her and walked right out of her castle like it was nothing! You were just…utterly incredible!" He breathed out, shaking his head in awe. "…I have a heart again because of you." At a loss for articulacy, he shrugged. "I love again because of you." A strange clear liquid tin rimmed his eyes. He motioned to Aaron, attempting to take the focus off of himself.

Dorothy couldn't impede the smile that forced itself upon her as the second man stood. She examined him once more; he looked to be about thirty, maybe thirty five. His tall, strong and lean stature, long, sharp features, and golden hair were an exact match of the man in her vision. Eudora was right; he was handsome. He breathed out nervously, looking to Glinda for reassurance before speaking. A look of desperation flooded his countenance.

"Dorothy, I…" He paused. His voice was like cool satin on skin. Hearing him say her name confirmed it; it was him, without a doubt. Her shoulders relaxed as she waited for him to speak again.

"I'm Aaron. Well, now I'm called Aaron. I didn't always look like this. I used to be made of cloth and straw. I didn't even have a name until you gave it to me: Scarecrow."

Dorothy's eyes narrowed. _Scarecrow?_ _Glinda, Nick, OZ. _The names were like electrified axons, stretching out to something that made sense, to something that would connect all of it together.

Aaron's throat hitched. "We used to be good friends. I taught you the code that led you here; the one above the palace."

Repelled by the stranger's preposterous claim, she attempted to remember where she had actually learned the code with which she was so infatuated as a girl…only she couldn't recall.

"When I met you, I was nothing. No brains, no future; I couldn't even fulfill the simple purpose for which I was built. Every day, bands of detestable crows flocked to my fields for no other reason than to laugh at me, feasting on the corn I'd been designed to preserve. I spent years hanging on that pole, not even capable of perceiving anything beyond my own miserable existence. Until you…" he faltered.

"You took me as your companion, no questions asked. Every moment I spent walking that brick road with you and Nick to the city, I grew smarter, even without a brain. You gifted me with the experience of a reality outside my own limited world…you gifted me with friendship…you helped me to look past who I thought I was, causing me to become the creature you knew I was capable of becoming." He stared into her eyes, desperate for any sign of remembrance; she only looked back blankly.

Exacerbated, he ceased thinking and blurted out: "How can you not remember me? How can you not remember us?" He abandoned his place at the table, treading toward her. He knelt in front of her where she sat, grasping her shoulders. His eyes darted back and forth over hers. Overwhelmed, he shook at her lightly. "Please, Dorothy. Remember me!"

Her eyes watered. For one very brief moment, Aaron clung to the hope that this was a result of a torrent of memories which would bring her back to him. She pushed him away again.

"I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…" She pressed her seat back and stood, darting out of the room and leaving Aaron kneeling in front of the abandoned chair.

"Nice going." Nick scoffed, plucking his mimosa from the table and taking a giant swig. Glinda placed a hand on Aaron's shoulder.

"She'll come around. She only needs time."

The maid entered again with a tray of four plates of hot pancakes, stopping uncomfortably in front of the scene.

"Only three, then?"

Chapter thirteen

Dorothy jogged the length of the hall outside the dining room, turning aimlessly into a dim corridor at its end and pressing through a pair of heavy wrought iron doors. Immediately her eyes narrowed against the light that enveloped her. The room was incredible; over one hundred yards of space stretched out under a giant glass canopy, fifty foot tall glass walls surrounding it entirely.

Giant trees littered the vicinity, encircled by smaller plants and flowers both potted and spreading out wildly along the ground. Stone walkways twisted through the area, rolling around the vicinity of the room and hugging mature clusters of vegetation as they went. A large manmade waterfall rumbled at the back of the room, fanning a misty cloud of moisture into the atmosphere. Windows at the top of the giant conservatory had been pulled open, letting in a calm stream of air.

Spying back into the hall, she pressed her weight against the doors, closing them behind her. Shutting her eyes, she rested her face against the coolness of one of the scrolling iron bars that made up the design of the door; her heart, still pounding, throbbed deafening courses of blood through her ears. She turned, scanning the area for any potential witnesses to the breakdown to come. Finding no one, she treaded deeper into the indoor jungle, seeking a place to hide.

Nightingales' songs echoed out of high, flowering branches that created colorful canopies overhead; large, unlit lanterns hung from the branches, hovering far above her. Beyond a small clearing in the distance was the perfect spot; a covered swinging bench fixed directly in front of a rippling pond. Dorothy crossed the spongy terrain of grass and immediately crawled onto the hard wood, pulling her knees to her head and burying her face into them. The bench swung slightly from her mount, lovingly rocking her and inviting her to let go.

A mixture of warm tears and mascara stained the dusty blue taffeta dress Eudora had laid out for her. Every moment since Henry's death had felt like a strange dream, like a magnetic cloud towing her to and fro without her consent, blurring her vision and pulling her farther and farther away from normal.

Forcing herself to concentrate, she imagined herself at home, several years ago, when everything was still good, when everything still made sense. Em and Henry's faces looked out at her from her heart's vision; she could still imagine the way their bodies felt when she hugged them, the way they smelled. Her face tensed against the silk; she breathed in through the tightness in her chest, oxygen shallowly entering her lungs through the pain.

What kind of a future could possibly be meant for her now? How could she go on when her heart was back in Kansas, split in two and buried under mounds of heavy earth? The bench had slowed to a stop, supporting her motionlessly; she held her breath, attempting to somehow metaphysically morph into its own stillness, becoming inactive, becoming nothing. Several minutes passed in silence, each one drawing the ache out of her like string from a ball of yarn; still attached, it fell into knotted piles in front of her consciousness, looking to her to sort it out again. A small furry body leapt onto the bench, jolting it back into motion and shattering her stream of consciousness. She lifted her head at the disruption and smiled, sniffing and reaching her hand for the cat.

"Hi George."

George purred loudly, turning her head and pressing into the Dorothy's hand as she scratched at her face. She jumped onto her raised knees, peering at her.

"I say! Look at that face! Whatever is the matter?"

She breathed out harshly, pressing her face against George's warm forehead. Lacking the desire to illustrate everything she had experienced, she replied simply.

"Everything."

"Gracious!" George replied. Dorothy remained quiet, stroking the cat's back with one hand and wiping the tears from her cheek with another. After a moment, George tilted her head inquisitively, considering what the cure might be for such an ailment as 'everything'. Her eyes widened in revelation.

"I know just the thing!" She sprung from Dorothy's lap and darted behind the bench. Dorothy craned her neck but couldn't see where the cat had gone. After a moment, she heard her voice from behind the bench.

"Close your eyes and hold out your hand!"

Dorothy's face twisted in suspicion.

"Are they closed?"

Humoring the cat, she closed her eyes and held out her hand, replying. "Yes."

Momentarily, she felt the bump of the animal's mount upon the swinging bench. Four furry white legs padded toward her, and something soft was laid in her hand.

"Open your eyes!"

Dorothy winced; a mockingbird lay lifeless in her palm, its chest crusted in blood. George looked at her proudly.

"I caught that yesterday! I was saving it for myself, but perhaps it will help to alleviate the 'everything'?" She crawled into Dorothy's lap, nestling into the hammock of fabric created between her folded legs. "Not as delectable as the prison rats, but still a tasty catch; wouldn't you agree?"

Flattered by the act of selflessness and not wishing to offend, Dorothy resisted the desire to drop the dead bird onto the ground. She remained silent, the lifeless creature lying motionlessly in her still extended hand. She squeaked a reply through the revolt in her throat.

"Thank you."

George shifted in her lap, tucking her paws underneath her fur body.

"You're welcome." She rested her head on Dorothy's thigh, closing her eyes contentedly. Dorothy's hand remained awkwardly outstretched; she looked at the nightingale. The feathers on its chest were a vibrant blue and orange, and though it was crusted with blood, it was still beautiful. She listened to the songs of its relatives in the canopies of branches above. Looking up, she saw a nest of baby nightingales, their mother flocking into it, provisions of worms hanging from her mouth. Pulling her glance back to the dead thing, she murmured.

"Poor little bird…are those your babies?" She cupped her hand overhead, shielding it.

The moment her hand hovered over the creature, she jerked back in alarm. It moved! The nightingale fluttered aright, his sharp feet grasping against her palm. He preened at the blood in his feathers for a moment, then excitedly flapped his wings, casting himself into flight. In seconds he was perched on the nest above, twittering and hopping back and forth along its edges. Her mouth hung open in astonishment. She called to her companion.

"George! Look!"

George looked up at Dorothy's empty palm. She stood, sniffing at it, then looked upward at the daddy mockingbird who now joined the mother in feeding his young.

"What a terrible waste! You shan't be receiving any more treats from me, Dorothy Gale!"

Still astounded, she replied. "I'm sorry George…" She looked up at the family of birds, her wet, red eyes crinkling into a smile. "I don't know what just happened…"

"I'll tell you what happened; a perfectly good meal just flew up into the branches! What kind of a witch are you?" George jumped down from the bench and paused, licking at her foot. "You seem a good one, but one can't be sure these days." She slunk over to the pond, lowering her body to the ground and peering into the water at a hefty koi fish that glided through the cool, rippling liquid.

Dorothy narrowed her eyes. "I'm not a witch!"

George's head snapped upward. "Gracious! You needn't be offended. My, you are a strange creature!" Looking back into the water, she batted at the ripples, continuing. "Whatever are you, then?"

Dorothy paused a moment before responding. "I'm me."

"Well, I've certainly never met a 'me' that could bring day old meals back to life."

"I didn't bring anything back to life…it must have only been unconscious." Dorothy replied distractedly, pondering on the occurrence as she stared back upward at the bird and his family. He flitted happily along the branches, chirping a song that echoed into the heart of the conservatory, mixing with the tunes of others.

George treaded back over to Dorothy and leapt once more onto the swinging bench, hopping onto its back and steadying herself against its movement.

"One thing I'm quite capable of, thank you very much, is killing birds. I assure you, that one was dead."

In the distance, Dorothy spied a small troop of servants seeping into her private world of greenery, interrupting its seclusion with the racket of rakes, hoses, and trowels. As they neared, spraying, picking and digging as they went, she grew increasingly uncomfortable; she wasn't yet ready to come out of hiding. She turned to George.

"I'm bored; let's leave."

George yawned, extending her long arms and spreading her six toed paws in front of her.

"You mean to say you don't intend to spend the day lounging on this bench? It seemed such a lovely idea to me!"

Dorothy glanced back at the intruders. "I'd prefer not to stay in one place for too long."

"As a matter of fact," George stood, arching her back in a deep stretch. "There happen to be several ideal napping spots throughout the palace; do you know the layout?"

Dorothy shook her head. "No."

Lazily, George responded, kneading her claws into the wood of the bench as she spoke. "I suppose I could show you around, if you-"

"Great!" Dorothy interjected, scooping up the cat and fleeing the bench. She disappeared behind a thicket of flowering bushes just as one of the servants entered the clearing. George twisted in her arms, pressing herself against her grasp.

"What _are_ you doing?"

"Shh!" she whispered back, pulling George closer as she cut through trees and plants that lined the perimeter of the giant glass room.

The group, chatting amongst themselves and focused on their work, crossed Dorothy's path without notice. Satisfied she had successfully avoided being seen, she plunked George onto the ground and patted her head.

"Sorry."

"Hmph!" George licked herself in contempt. Slightly more relieved at having passed into safety, Dorothy allowed herself the pleasure of slowing to admire the remaining vegetation that speckled the area near the exit. One exhibit in particular seized her attention; a large copper pot that housed bunches of white tulips with slightly frayed petals. Delicate clusters of Lily of the Valley peppered the bouquet. A golden plaque had been mounted on the wall behind it.

_Summa Cum Laude _

_Awarded to:_

_Scarecrow_

_Year of Ozma, Fifty Seven_

_Greatest Scientific Advancement in the Field of Botany_

_Flos Papilio _

"Scarecrow…" she mouthed the name under her breath. It was the name Aaron had mentioned at breakfast. His voice sounded in her memory: _ I didn't even have a name until you gave it to me: Scarecrow. _

The flowers gave off a powerful, sweet aroma. She leaned forward, inhaling deeply. Smiling, she delicately brushed the petals of one of the flowers with her fingertips. Straight away its petals quivered and a slight cracking sound emanated from the base of the bud. The silky petals spread open, morphing into the wings of a butterfly. She gasped, drawing her hand back. Enamored, she locked her gaze onto the breathtaking insect. It slowly fanned its wings for a moment, then fluttered into the air like paper in a breeze.

"What is this?" she breathed, enthralled.

"One of a thousand things my master has created." George responded proudly, rubbing her body against the smoothness of the copper pot. Hopping onto its edge, she gazed into the bushel of white petals. She swatted at another of the flowers, causing the same reaction as before; white, frayed petals pressed open, sliding together into the shape of wings and taking flight.

_The man at the breakfast table did this?_ Dorothy's expression lifted in amazement.

"Your master is brilliant."

"Yes, yes," George replied, hopping down to the grass below. "Everyone knows that."

Dorothy lifted her brows. "I didn't." Immediately after speaking, she thought again of his words to her earlier. _I was nothing. No brains, no future…_

"You bring birds back from the dead, yet you are not a witch. You're all my master has spoken of for the last day, yet you claim you don't even know him! A curious thing indeed!" George mused.

Dorothy shrugged, her face softening. The sun peaked through an opening between the canopies of branches overhead, washing over the spot where they stood; like the plants surrounding them, it energized her. She knelt before the pot, smirking cunningly. She brushed her hands over the entire lot; all at once, every flower spread and a cloud of white tulip butterflies scattered into the air, stretching out wildly into the atmosphere. George swatted at her leg.

"If you're quite through playing, Miss Dorothy, I believe I have a palace to show you."

The duo spent the next hour poking in and out of every room in the entire east wing of the palace; its magnitude and splendor were overwhelming. It was a calm morning, and the few individuals they encountered were servants who, focused on their work, stayed quietly out of the way. With every new door opened, Dorothy became increasingly nervous that an awkward encounter between herself and one of the three people she'd met at breakfast might ensue. As they strode down a large hall along the main floor, she turned her glance down at the cat.

"Do you know where the king usually is at this time of day?"

George, still walking alongside, replied without looking up. "After breakfast he typically removes himself to his tower to tend to the affairs of ruling OZ…either that, or the library." Having exhausted the tour of the east wing, they passed by the hall that lead to the conservatory, heading into the main body of the palace.

"You strike me as someone who might enjoy a library; come, I'll show you…" George broke into a jog.

A library! The thought of a place not only matching the grandeur of the rest of the palace, but entirely filled with fat paper volumes of knowledge sent Dorothy into a tailspin of anticipation. Trailing behind, she paused at her second thought: what if he was there?

"George! Wait!"

The cat had already trotted the length of the hall, her tail disappearing into a wide crack between the doors of the library. Dorothy breathed out apprehensively, continuing toward the entrance. At the doors, she timidly peeked inside to inspect the area for any sign of Aaron. The moment she set her glance into the room, however, the task at hand was wholly forgotten.

Dorothy slipped in through the space in the doors, her hand over her heart. A procession of seven giant archways of elaborately carved wood lined the distance of the room. High windows leaked natural light into the space, adding to that which was provided by fat pendulum lanterns hanging from the apex of every arch. Built in, two story shelving encased each side of the library; not one inch of space was left unoccupied in any of them. She covered her mouth, breathing out through the grin that cultivated behind her palms.

"This is incredible!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the room. Without delay she rushed to the nearest shelf, her eyes pouring over every title. She attempted to calm herself, but with each new row of volumes she became increasingly excitable. No subject had been neglected; books on philosophy, physics, biology, poetry, chemistry, astronomy, music, and art all graced the shelves. A few authors Dorothy recognized from her own world, but most were unfamiliar. She plucked a blue spined volume from amongst its relatives and read the title aloud.

"_Ten Methods of_ _Biomolecular Manipulation of the Honey Bee_!?" Engrossed, she flipped open the cover, feasting on the contents of chapter one. Her eyes still fastened to the page, she felt her way to the center of the library where a long table was situated. As soon as she perched onto one of the chairs, a six toed white paw batted at the book, sending it toppling out of her hands and onto her lap.

"Oh no, you don't!" George sat atop the table, glowering. "You haven't even seen the best part of the palace yet!"

"I find that extremely hard to believe." Dorothy countered, lifting the book from her lap and smoothing her hand along its cover. She glanced around at her surroundings, smiling contentedly.

George jumped onto Dorothy's shoulder, tickling her ear with her whiskers and simultaneously batting at the book again, attempting to knock it from her hands.

"Okay! Alright!" Dorothy laughed, setting down the book and rubbing at her ear. "But after we see this alleged 'best part' I'm coming right back!"

"Fair enough." George hopped to the floor and immediately began slinking toward the doors, stopping at the threshold and turning back.

"Here, lady, lady!"

"Oh, you are a cheeky one!" Dorothy mocked laughingly, rising from her chair and following the cat out the door toward the Great Hall.

#

"Well?" George sauntered into the heart of the Great Hall, her reflection gleaming off of the polished marble floors.

"I've never seen anything like this in my life…" Dorothy murmured breathlessly. The giant Great Hall glittered from every direction. Servants bustled back and forth, some of them setting up tables and linens, others buffing the floors. A few balanced on towering ladders, dusting the monstrous sparkling chandeliers and polishing the four colossal emerald pillars that stood at the head of the room. An imposing marble staircase was anchored in one corner, making the Hall accessible from the second floor. Tucked at its side was an assemblage of individuals seated in foldaway chairs; a conductor stood before them, tapping his baton against a silver music stand. Stringed instruments waxed and waned in volume, tuning up in preparation for a rehearsal. Flutes and horns piped in intermittently, spouting out various components of melodies.

"The best part, yes?" George rubbed against Dorothy's leg.

Dorothy craned her neck, taking in the entire spectacle. "A very close second," She lowered her glance, winking at George. "What's going on in here?"

"Preparation for another loud and boring ball." George said. "At least this one has a rather exciting purpose, however."

"What would that be?" Dorothy questioned, staring up at the painted murals on the ceilings.

"Queen Ozma's Aurian effigy. It was completed only a week ago; the unveiling is set for tomorrow evening, coinciding with said loud, boring affair."

"…Aaron's wife?"

George stared up at her, scowling. "Certainly not! My master disdains women! Unattached ones in particular, and rightfully so; oh, the way they clamor over him! It's positively revolting!"

Dorothy laughed. "A handsome, single king? It's no wonder."

"He doesn't need a wife," George responded possessively. "He has a kingdom to rule and a perfectly lovely cat to keep him company. What else would a king need, honestly?"

Sensing George's jealousy, Dorothy changed the subject. "Who is Ozma, then? The name sounds so familiar…"

"The previous ruler of OZ, of course!"

"Hmm." Dorothy approached the emerald columns at the head of the room, where, centered among them, a large, shining green cloth had been draped over a tall object beneath. She grazed the fabric with her fingers.

"Is this it? May I see?" She began to pull at the fabric, ducking to look at the hidden object beneath. George hissed, striking Dorothy's hand with her paw.

"No! What on earth is the matter with you!? The unveiling of an Aurian statue is a sacred moment to Ozians; you must wait until tomorrow like everyone else. Heavens!" George paced in front of the statue, visibly displeased.

"I'm sorry." Dorothy bent to the cat, stroking her back repentantly. "George? What is an Aurian?"

"An Aura, dear," George corrected.

"Alright…what is an Aura, please?" Dorothy tried again.

"You really know nothing of this world, do you?" George sighed, nudging Dorothy away from the covered statue. "An Aura is a person or creature possessing the actual Spirit of OZ. They are the only ones who can guarantee the safety and stability of this land. With an Aura, we are secure. Without, we're exposed."

Wrinkling her forehead, Dorothy responded. "I don't understand. The Spirit of OZ?"

"Yes," George said. "Auras are a race of their own; they can be anything mortal; anything with a heart, that is." She treaded near one of the archways, stopping and gesturing to the second archway above it which housed one of many of the Aurian sculptures in the Hall. "Every Aura is honored after his or her death with a statue depicting him or herself."

Dorothy gazed up at the statue that stood encased in a golden archway. It was pure white marble, and depicted a very short woman with wings and a catlike face. Her arms were bent such that her hands rested in front of her torso, one laying flat, the other rounded on top of it. Between her hands was a gold symbol, the same that Dorothy had seen blinking in the sky above the palace in Morse code: an "O" and "Z", intertwined as one. Golden block letters floated above her, unattached to anything, spelling out what Dorothy assumed to be her name: GEBISHA RISS.

"What's the significance of the symbol made by her hands?" Dorothy questioned, captivated.

"It is the symbol of the Aura; the bottom hand represents stability, the top, protection. The 'OZ' in the center is self explanatory."

"Fascinating…" Dorothy moved along the span of the Hall, studying each of the statues. Though they were all made of the same white marble, the creatures varied infinitely: giants, little people, animals, and some which appeared to be a mixture of many things. She crossed the width of the Hall to the archways on the other side, curious to see the rest. Three Auras in, she halted; her legs felt as if they'd sunk into the ground and stuck there, forbidding her to move.

"George!" she shouted over her shoulder. George had been distracted by one of the servants who brought in a plate of sandwiches, and was presently weaving in and out of her legs, begging for a morsel. Four men carrying a heavy table crossed in front of Dorothy, placing it alongside the wall in front of her.

"George!" She cried out again, desperately.

"What is it?" George spouted back, irritated by the disruption. She trotted across the Hall and leapt atop the table.

"…What is the name above that statue?"

"How on earth should I know? I'm a cat; I can't read!" George retorted.

Dorothy's heart scampered. A white marble figure of a little girl rested inside the arch, her hands forming the Aurian symbol. The golden letters above her gleamed against the light of the chandeliers above: DOROTHY GALE.

"You've lost your color, Dorothy; are you not well?" George inquired, tilting her head to the side. Dorothy opened her mouth, then closed it again, dumbfounded.

"Perhaps you should lie down?" George questioned. The servant woman called to her, offering the scraps that had fallen out of the sandwiches upon their being taken from the tray.

"Oh my!" George jumped off of the table, bounding across the Hall to the dish of scraps.

Dorothy stood for several moments, her legs still frozen into the shiny marble floors. She read the golden letters repeatedly; each time she was sure she'd misinterpreted. The girl looked like her as a child; the name in gold was her own. Once again, a torrent of confusion and anxiety washed over her. This time, however, she refused to hide.

Pulling her legs out of their coma, she spun in the direction of the doors to the outer hall and began walking evenly through the growing crowd of servants in the Great Hall. The nearer she drew to the door, the quicker her pace became until she had finally reached the outer hall where she promptly sprung into a full dash, accelerating toward the dining room she'd earlier fled.

Bursting through the dining room doors, she saw Nick seated alone at the table; the others were gone. The table had been cleared; all that remained was a fat cigar that smoldered in a crystal ash tray in front of him. His face was shielded by a large newspaper; he apparently hadn't seen or heard her enter, as he remained stationary, the edges of the paper drooping at the sides.

She glided across the room to where he stood, stopping in front of the paper. She cleared her throat loudly. No response. Pressing her fingers against the top of the newspaper, she pulled it downward, revealing his face. His ears were covered with some sort of small boxes; a tiny stream of muffled music sounded within them. Startled, he looked up, then smiled at her, reaching forward and patting her arm.

"Hey kid!" He pulled the headphones off, resting them against the base of his neck. "Remember me yet?"

"No." Dorothy replied, agitated. "Why is there an Aurian statue in the Great Hall with my name over it?"

Nick, folding the paper as she spoke, set it down next to the ashtray and lifted the cigar from its place in the crystal bowl. He took a deep puff and, turning his head to the side, released a cloud of sugary smelling smoke. He let out a short chuckle.

"You really don't know who you are," He shook his head in disbelief, staring into her tense expression. "Unbelievable."

Dorothy exhaled, dropping into the chair next to him and burying her face in her hands. "I know exactly who I am, Mr. Chopper." She looked up at him again, resting her chin on her palms.

"I'm Dorothy Gale. I live in Kansas, on a farm with my aunt and…" she stopped herself. "…on a farm. I've lived there all my life. That is what I've experienced; that is what I know. It's all of _this_ I don't know…but yet, I feel that I do in some way, which confuses me even more." Tears pooled in her eyes again, threatening to sprint down her face should she dare to blink.

"Hey," he started, blotting out the glowing tip of the cigar and edging closer in his seat. "Breathe." He placed a cool metal hand on the back of her head. She looked at his shining face; he looked at her like Henry or Emily would; with familiarity, with love.

"Please, tell me this isn't a dream, or some sort of elaborate joke. Please tell me you really know who I am; don't lie to me."

"Dorothy," he breathed out, his lips turning into a half smile. "I would never lie to you. This is no scam. I know you, we all do. Don't sweat it," He patted her head lightly before removing his hand. "You'll remember in a little while. In the meantime, just know we're all here for you and we love you. That's a promise you can count on."

Shaking, she tried to breathe, staring at the tin hand that rested on his knee. The strangers here all seemed to care for her…yet, so had Alex. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. What other option did she have? If there _was_ something to remember, something that would give her life meaning again, she wanted desperately to know what it was.

"If I trust you, can you help me, somehow, to remember?"

"I'll try," he replied hesitantly. "I just don't know what would-" he cut short. "Hmm." Placing an elbow on the table, he rubbed at his chin in thought. "Well, there is something I could show you that might help." He stood, extending a hand to her. "Come on."

Rising, she took his hand. "Where are we going?"

"To plan 'B'!"

Chapter fourteen

Nick led Dorothy into the rear of the west wing of the palace, stopping in front of a dim, narrow staircase.

"Here we are!" He motioned to the stairs.

Dorothy raised an eyebrow. "Some stairs?"

"No! It's what's at the top of the stairs!" He disappeared into the shadows; as he ascended the steps, the faint tinking of metal echoed off the walls. "Man, I haven't been up here in probably ninety years!"

Timidly, Dorothy followed. His words resonated in her mind: ninety years? Nick waited for her outside a door at the top of the steps. Reaching the top, she grasped for the handle, jiggling it unsuccessfully. Disappointed, she turned to him.

"It's locked."

He smiled artfully, then turned to the brick wall behind him. Several of the blocks had primitive pictures drawn onto them.

"Now, let's see…" He stared at the wall. His finger pressed against a bird, a rainbow, a star, a tree, and finally, the Aurian symbol. A loud click sounded from the handle of the door. "Ha!" Reaching in front of her, he turned the handle with ease and pressed the door open. He bowed playfully, extending his arm in a gesture for her to enter. "My lady!"

Stifling a smirk, Dorothy pressed the door open wider, stepping into a dusty, beautiful playroom.

Nick clomped over the wood floors behind her, stopping in front of a shelf neatly lined with porcelain dolls. He brushed at a thick layer of dust. "Not bad after nearly a century! A little grimy…"

The room was a child's dream; a life sized carousel was anchored in one corner, nestled perfectly inside a huge stained glass turret. In the heart of the room was a giant canopy of sheer white fabric; a table and chairs were centered underneath; child sized china tea cups and dishes had been carefully laid out on top. Colorful, unlit paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, dropping to varying lengths.

"I want to show you something." He walked over to a tall teepee in the corner; a play fire was placed in front of it with red, crinkled paper in its center, imitating glowing coals. Several pieces of twine were strung up along the wall next to it; children's drawings had been attached to them with miniature clothespins. He remained silent, nodding to the pictures.

Having been admiring the carousel, Dorothy turned to Nick. She drew near him at the wall, scanning the drawings; they looked like the generic artwork any child might create, with crooked lines and rudimentary renderings of people and places.

"They're cute. Who did them?"

He rolled his eyes. "Look a little closer."

Turning back to the drawings, she crouched slightly to line up her glance with the pictures. Her heart tripped. One drawing was of a girl, what she assumed was a man, but with sticks of yellow protruding from every joint, and another man rendered with a grey crayon. They were labeled: 'ME' above the girl, 'SCARECROW', above the first person, and 'NICK' above the grey man. Another was of a princess, or what looked like a princess. A stick figure of a woman with red hair and a billowing, purple dress had been carefully etched into the page with crayon. A wand had been stuck into her stick hand. 'GLINDA', the child's rough handwriting was scratched above the woman.

Another was slightly indecipherable, as the creatures depicted were quite strange looking. One of them was short and fat, drawn with brown crayon. Its eyes were green. There was a tall, lanky creature standing next to it, with an engorged, orange head that looked like a jack o' lantern. A red chicken was drawn on the ground next to them. 'JACK', 'TIK TOK', and 'BILINA' had been written above them.

Another was of a lion; its ruffled mane was scratched haphazardly onto the page with brown crayon, labeled 'COWARDLY LION'. The final drawing was of two girls, both with dark hair. One had a green dress etched over her frame, and red flowers on each side of her head; a yellow 'O' and 'Z' were in the center of her forehead. They were also labeled: 'OZMA', and 'ME'. Every drawing was signed at the bottom by its artist: 'DOROTHY GALE'. Dorothy covered her mouth with both hands. Her eyes darting back and forth at the etchings of crayon, everything came back, bit by bit. She began to nod in understanding.

"There was a storm…the tornado that destroyed the first farmhouse…" she breathed. She looked back at the drawing of Scarecrow. An image flared into her mind's eye. She had been walking for so long...the sun was setting…there was a scarecrow in a corn field. _Good day_. He smiled. Dusty, apple green threaded eyes bore into her.

"Scarecrow!" She touched the drawing of the straw man. Her eyes flashed to the picture of Glinda, then the rest of the creatures. She remembered them all. Tears pooling in her eyes, she plucked the drawing of herself and Ozma from the twine.

"Ozma…" she whispered. How could she have forgotten? They were like sisters. She turned around to look at the room again; the spirit of hours of play and laughter still resonated within the walls. She snuffled, her cheeks striped with tears. Her eyes widened; Nick was standing next to her!

"Nick!" She turned, shoving into him with a deep embrace. "Oh, Nick!" She pulled back, looking into his shining face. His eyes creased, glistening with the same liquid tin she'd seen earlier in the dining room.

"Welcome back, kid." He laughed, pulling her close again and expelling a deep sigh of relief. "We thought we'd lost you."

"No…I remember now…" She stared into his face. It was the same man; the same face, the same voice. He'd seemed taller then, however. She looked at his chest. Hesitating, she touched it.

"The star?" He smiled knowingly. "It's still there." He unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it open to reveal the metal star that covered the spot where his human heart had been placed. She ran her fingers over it, laughing lightly.

"I can't believe it…I can't believe I'd forgotten all of this…"

Nick fastened the buttons of his shirt, replying. "You remember now. That's good enough for me."

Dorothy lifted the aged piece of paper she'd been holding, grinning with excitement.

"Where's Ozma?" Immediately after speaking, her expression deflated. She remembered George's words to her earlier in the Great Hall; the statue of the deceased Aura was an image of Ozma. Before Nick could reply, she corrected herself.

"…She's gone, isn't she..."

He pursed his lips, nodding. "About eight months ago."

Closing her eyes, she shook her head, defeated. "How?"

Nick shrugged. "Old age, I suppose. She was a hundred and two."

"No…" Dorothy retorted. "That's not right…Ozma was only a few years older than me! How could she be old?"

"You've been gone for ninety years, Dorothy," he spoke softly. "We're wondering how _you_ could be so young."

Dorothy stared at the picture. "Nothing here makes sense."

At a loss, he spoke. "Would you like to see her memorial?"

She pinned the drawing back onto the string and brushed the stick figure labeled 'OZMA' with her fingers.

"Very much."

Against Dorothy's protests, Nick requested a few servants to accompany them, baskets of provisions in tow. They exited the rear of the palace, walking on foot through the grounds to Ozma's gravesite. She was buried in a small grassy knoll on the outskirts of the grounds; a large pink magnolia tree stretched its branches over the site, shading the headstone. A simple granite bench sat at the base of the tree.

"It's lovely." She read the inscription on the stone:

Ozma Pastoria

Aura of the Land of OZ

Her Imperial Highness

Queen Mother of OZ

Edmond 42-Ozma 91

"'Edmond'?" she questioned.

"Years are labeled by whoever the ruler is at the time," Nick pointed to the names. "She was born the year her father, Edmond Pastoria, was assassinated. He was forty two at the time. She began her rule at age eleven and lived to be a hundred and two, hence the 'Ozma ninety one'."

"So, what year is it now?"

"Well, Scarecrow having ruled at one point before, this is technically his second first year." he laughed. "They've decided to call it Scarecrow two sub one. I guess next year will be Scarecrow two sub two."

"Oh." Dorothy breathed, distracted by her thoughts. They sat together on the bench, remaining silent for several minutes. "Nick…if Ozma lived so long and died…why are you and Scarecrow and Glinda still alive?"

"Aaron used to be immortal; he never aged; he's only been human for eight months. His life will carry out normally now…Glinda's a witch; they live a lot longer than humans, almost twice as long. And me…" he paused, unsure of how to answer. "I don't really know. I guess I'll be around until my heart gives out, whenever that may be."

"I just don't understand how time could've passed so differently here than it did for me in Kansas…" She thought of both of the times she'd visited OZ as a child; the second time she'd been away for over half a year, yet when she returned, Em and Henry merely thought she'd been away for the afternoon, playing. She supposed it did make sense.

"Ozma really loved you, you know. I think, in all the years she lived, you were probably the closest friend she'd ever had, even though you were only here a short time."

Dorothy fixed her gaze on the headstone, trying to remember more of the old woman who was buried beneath it. Excluding Henry and Em, Dorothy had never been closer to another soul besides Ozma. They'd spent every moment together, trusting each other with secrets, loving and protecting one another. She never really wished to leave OZ, but knowing how her permanent disappearance would destroy her adoptive parents back in Kansas, she'd asked Glinda to send her back using the Nome King's belt.

"I wish I'd gotten a chance to see her again," She said, leaning into him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer.

"We'll all get to see her again, someday."

Her eyes glossed over. A mass of magnolia petals began to fall from the branches above, swirling to the ground and temporarily shrouding the twosome in a canopy of pink. Nick looked up; the entire tree was bare. He turned his gaze to Dorothy, his forehead wrinkled in bewilderment. Ignorant of the phenomenon, she remained fixed on the headstone.

"First Emily and Henry, now Ozma…I'm tired of losing people, Nick. I'm so worn out from this constant ache; I don't want to feel anymore."

Still stunned by what had happened, he remained stationary, his tin arms enveloping her as they sat together.

"Don't you ever say that, Dorothy. The heart is an extremely valuable thing; it's what makes you a living creature. Yeah, pain is a part of that, but so is love. And love always triumphs over pain." He glanced down at the engagement ring on Dorothy's left hand. Immediately his thoughts went to Nimee Aimee.

It had been over a century since he'd lost her, and the pain still lingered. They were madly in love with one another before an attack from a witch hired by Nimee's father left him nearly dead on the side of a country road. A good witch found him, taking him in and salvaging his life by replacing every part of his body with tin. Though still technically alive, his heart was lost, and as a result of that, so were his feelings for Nimee. Shattered, she'd killed herself.

After the Wizard gave him his human heart, the realization of the loss nearly destroyed him as well. He'd never told anyone, but about a week after he'd received his heart, he went back into the woods during a rainstorm, praying the water would rust him through and end his existence. Scarecrow found him two days later, his every joint almost entirely corroded, and took him to a tinsman who repaired him. It was a sad secret the two shared, and the experience brought them closer together as friends. It wasn't until they discovered Ozma that he felt life might be worth living again; she was like a daughter to him, and he loved her tremendously.

"That's a beautiful ring. Did we take you away from your husband?"

Dorothy, having entirely forgotten about the giant stone on her finger, took it off in disgust.

"No, I'm not married, thank God."

He laughed. "You sound like Aaron. So it's not an engagement ring?"

She flipped it around in her fingers before handing it to him. "It _is_ an engagement ring, but I'm not married to the man, and with any luck I'll never see him again."

He raised his eyebrows at her, implicitly requesting more details. She sighed. "He's a doctor back home in Kansas; Dr. Reve is his name. Though he's not actually from Kansas" she narrowed her eyes. "…I don't think I ever found out where he was from." She shook her head and shrugged, continuing. "He was a lot of help to me when Henry was ill; I really don't know what would have happened had he not been there. Henry begged me to marry him; I guess he thought he could take care of me. It was his dying wish; I couldn't say no, and I _was _very grateful to Alex…I guess I figured I could grow to love him." She shifted, pulling her head from its resting spot against Nick's shoulder and sitting up straight again.

"Once Henry died, he changed. He was a cruel, abusive drunk. He nearly killed me the night the tidal wave hit the ship we were on; we were heading for his homeland. That's what brought me back."

Nick paused for a moment, his eyes scanning her neck. "Is he the one behind those bruises?" His tone was steeped in anger. She nodded in affirmation.

"That son of a bitch is lucky he didn't make it back with you."

She smiled; it felt good to know there were still people left in the world who cared for her. Nick lifted his leg, resting his ankle on his opposite knee. He held the ring up to the suns, rotating it against the light and observing its sparkle.

"You at all attached to this thing?"

"Not in the slightest. What did you have in mind?"

"A large dose of cathartic release." He smirked, grabbing her hands and pulling her off of the bench. "Let's go. It's almost noon; we might just make it!"

Nick ran across the grassy landscape, pulling Dorothy along. The back of his head nearly blinded her as it reflected the intense shine of the three suns above; she closed her eyes as she ran alongside, trusting him to lead. The attendants followed, the objects they'd brought along jumbling in their grasp as they tripped along the terrain behind them.

After half a mile of running, Nick stopped breathlessly in front of a set of tracks and looked at his watch.

"Eleven fifty eight! Ha!" He handed the ring back to her, crouching and placing his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Straightening, he turned back to the attendants who had just barely jutted through the thicket of trees shielding the tracks from the palace grounds. "Hey! We're going to need some refreshment over here, pronto!" Breathless, they dropped their baskets, clamoring for a bottle opener and glasses. He moved his glance back to Dorothy.

"A train comes by the palace every day at noon, on the dot. Today it's passing just for you." he winked, gesturing to the tracks. She held up the ring, glancing at the railroad. Laughing, she piped back.

"Really?"

"Better hurry; it's now eleven fifty nine!" The rumble of the train could be heard in the far distance. She kissed him on the cheek, then ran up to the tracks. She placed the ring atop one of the parallel beams, glaring at it. The ground trembled underneath her as the train approached, clattering loudly along the tracks.

"Dorothy!" he shouted from afar, waving her over to a grassy area several yards from the tracks. He held two glasses of effervescent wine. She rushed over, taking one of the glasses and standing at his side. The train clattered nearer, blaring its horn over the rumbling of the heavy steel wheels on the tracks. As it neared, Nick raised his glass, shouting over the clamor.

"So long, Dr. Reve!"

Grinning, Dorothy also raised her glass to his, clinking them together. The train blew over the tracks, its shrill horn piercing the air. The pair jumped with elation, shouting and hollering as the steam engine roared past, crushing the ring.

"I forgot how much fun you are." She hugged his side, taking a sip. "This is divine; I don't think I've ever had sparkling wine before."

"Grapes from Aaron's vineyard…he's an all encompassing plant geek, among other things."

Dorothy thought of the butterfly tulips from the conservatory. "His intellect is quite impressive."

"Yeah, well make sure you tell him that the next time you see him; he never tires of hearing it."

"I never took him for an arrogant person; he always seemed so modest about his genius."

"Don't get me wrong; I love the guy. Since he became human, though, he's changed. Not necessarily for the worse…he's just different. I think he's afraid his mortal body has somehow tainted his brain with chemicals and hormones, making him less intelligent. He's as smart as he's always been, though; he's just a lot more distracted lately."

Dorothy pictured the man she'd seen in the dining room; though the voice was the same, his mortal form was quite different than that of when he was a scarecrow.

"Why on earth would he want to become human? And how did he do it?"

The pair began walking along the tracks, searching for the smashed engagement ring the train had left behind. Nick kicked at the ground, the hand holding the glass dangling at his side. Tact wasn't his forte; how should he reply? _Well, Dorothy, right before Ozma died she told Aaron you were in serious danger and we needed to bring you back before Everard could murder you. Oh, and did I mention he also intends to obliterate OZ? _He rolled the words around in his brain, attempting to come up with a more delicate way to phrase it.

"You remember the result of his first rule?"

Dorothy rubbed her glass with her thumb, staring into the bubbling liquid and trying to recollect the incident. "I remember the Wizard leaving in a hurry, giving Scarecrow the throne…and I remember Ozma. In between is a little foggy."

"Yeah, well, that 'in between' is the foundation of every insecurity that man has." He stopped walking and sipped from his glass, gliding a hand into his pocket. "It's true, when you left the first time, he was king. About two months later, however, he was deposed by a young woman named Jinjur who lead a revolt against OZ. He was forced to flee the throne; either that, or be killed. It was humiliating for him." He kicked again at the rocks; Dorothy remained silent.

"Thank God for Glinda who, as usual, came to the rescue of all of us. She helped us to uncover Ozma; Mombi had been keeping her hidden in the forest, disguised as a boy in exchange for a bribe from the Wizard. Ozma and her older sister went missing the night of Pastoria's assassination; everyone in OZ thought they were dead. After that, Ozma self actualized as an Aura and took the throne back from Jinjur. Scarecrow served as her advisor during her rule, and having an Aura in OZ guaranteed our safety again, which was a relief. Scarecrow never got over the shame of all of it, though."

"I had no idea…"

"You were only a child at the time." He continued.

"It was before he became human, right after the crowning ceremony when something snapped; he didn't want to rule again, but he also didn't want the shame of stepping down from the job Ozma had entrusted to him. So," He swigged the remaining two inches of his drink. "He somehow came up with the idea that being human would make him more of a force to be reckoned with…he said he felt it would generate more respect; that straw isn't a threat. He went to Mombi with a bag of rubies and begged her to turn him human; I guess the old witch has a problem saying no to bribes because, sure enough, she did it."

Dorothy mirrored his steps along the tracks, engrossed by the tale.

"Man, was Glinda livid the night he came back!" Nick laughed. "Changing someone's form is dark magic, and forbidden in OZ. But of course, he's the king, so there wasn't much she could do about it. After he became human…" He sighed, shaking his head and staring at the ground as they walked. "He essentially lost it. It was all Glinda could do to save public face while he had his breakdown." Dorothy stopped, wrinkling her forehead.

"He had a breakdown?"

Nick nodded. "He became human. He gained a heart." Still confused, Dorothy stared back silently, her eyes remaining narrowed.

"When Aaron was Scarecrow, he was an immortal creature. There are tons of them in OZ; seemingly alive creatures that exist forever. The thing that differentiates them from truly living things is that they have no heart. No heart in turn means no loving, no sadness, nothing really; just day by day existing. When Aaron came back, he was a mess; after gaining his heart, he grieved Ozma, and badly. I'm sure he cared for her while he was Scarecrow; I mean, as well as any Immortal could. He took care of her, he looked out for her. But he never loved her. He just wasn't capable of it." The pair trailed away from the tracks, now searching along the grassy banks beside it.

"The realization of the loss, and probably also the realization that he had never loved her nearly killed him. We were worried for a while if he'd ever get over it. After about two weeks of keeping himself locked up in that damned tower of his, he showed up at the breakfast table one morning, acting totally normal. At first we thought he'd lost his mind, but he really seemed okay. He said he'd done what he needed to do to protect OZ, but that the job wasn't done yet." Nick bent to the ground, grasping at a shining object. Finding it to be a coin, he slipped it into his pocket, continuing the search.

"For the last eight months he's been obsessed with building up an army. Ozma did a fine job with the one already in place, I thought, but Aaron wasn't satisfied. He's tripled the size of the armed forces, creating extensive training campaigns, advanced weaponry, everything." He chuckled. "He even invented this pendant that can summon the entire army to wherever he is at a second's notice, just by pressing it. He never takes it off." He shook his head again.

"Like I said: he's a different beast now. The old Scarecrow is still in there somewhere, though, I know it. We just have to find a way to bring him back again." He turned to Dorothy. "Now that you have your memory back, I'm counting on you to help him with that. You were always pretty good at fixing things in OZ; see if you can fix him, too." he winked.

"Speaking of fixing OZ," Dorothy started. "You never answered my question earlier. _Why_ is there an Aurian statue of me in the Great Hall?"

"Oh, right." he laughed. "Don't freak out; It's more honorary than anything. You never self actualized, so technically you weren't or, aren't an Aura. Ozma insisted on it, though, so it was made."

Still guarded, she paused. "I'm an 'honorary Aura'?"

"Well, in my hundred and thirty years of existence, I can't say I've ever seen anyone do the things you did without being an Aura…then again, the only Aura I've ever known is Ozma. But my point stands…Yes!" he ejected, bending low and stuffing his hand into a tuft of grass, pulling out the ring. The center stone was gone, the prongs around it having broken off. The surrounding sapphires were either missing or crushed, and the ring itself was squashed into a crooked oval.

"Here you are, Miss," he started, holding out the ring. "A glamorous metal trinket of your very own!"

Dorothy pressed her hands to her cheeks and widened her eyes in pretend excitement. She grabbed the ring, tossing it into the grass behind them. Taking hold of Nick's arm, she looked up and down at his physique.

"Just what I've always wanted! And so handsome, too!" Taking a brief moment to understand the joke, he cracked into a grin.

"Come on," he bent his arm, pulling her hand into its crook. "I know a couple of other glamorous creatures that've been dying to hug you for the past ninety years."

Chapter fifteen

On the first floor of his emerald tower, Aaron leaned over a wide table plastered with maps, lists, and charts. Several men stood around the table with him, all dressed in military uniform.

"I want everyone in training for this starting the first of next week. Tik Tok," he turned his glance to the round, copper mechanical man at the other end of the table. "_Please_ tell me you have the itinerary mapped out for this; I've been waiting on it for a month now. These men need to be skilled in turning maneuvers! I've said this a thousand times; why is it taking us so long?"

"The i-tin-er-ar-y is com-plete, your maj-es-ty." General Tik Tok handed the soldier next to him the documents which were passed down the length of the table to Aaron. He flipped through the pages, his emerald eyes darting up and down at the text.

"Brilliant, thanks. Now, if you'll all allow me just another moment of your time..." A collective grumble filled the space. Aaron had called them there on an impromptu meeting about the new enlistment strategy which he'd initially said would only last fifteen minutes; the soldiers had been trapped in the tower with him for the past two hours.

"Aaron?" Glinda chimed in. She'd arrived half an hour ago, waiting patiently in an overstuffed chair in the corner for him to finish. "My appointment was twenty minutes ago. Do you have to do this now?"

Having ducked under the table, Aaron fumbled through a messenger bag stuffed with various files, sketches, and manuscripts.

"Just give me another minute…"

"The Evians are going to be arriving any time now and I'll have to attend to them. If I can just get your consideration on some details for the ball tomorrow…"

"Mmm hmm?" He emerged from under the table, multiple sketch tubes in each arm and a draft of new weaponry designs tacked in his lips. He immediately turned his back to her again, jerking the lid off of one of the tubes and pulling out its contents.

Glinda exhaled. "Well, I was thinking of asking everyone to show up naked. Black tie is getting a little stale, don't you think?"

"That sounds great." he responded absentmindedly, walking across the room to a portable drawing board and dragging it over to the table. One of the younger soldiers at the table snickered, the man next to him jabbing him in the ribs.

Aaron pinned the artillery blueprints to the drawing board. "I worked on this last night while we were waiting up for…" he stopped himself from mentioning Dorothy. "I worked on this last night, and I think that with some minor improvements, it could be a really useful tool for feinting." He turned behind the board, clicking on the light within it. "Glinda, could you get the lights please?"

Exasperated, Glinda stood and walked beneath one of many large black iron lanterns that hung from above. Pulling on a chain attached to it, the light of each of the others in the room dimmed simultaneously. She paced back to the chair, scooping up a stack of papers.

"I'll come back when you have time; how's next year looking for you?"

Oblivious, Aaron fiddled with the blueprints on the board until the light glowed through the paper, casting a mirror image of the drawing onto the opposite wall.

"Great! Okay, so here it is…"

Glinda, already having made it to the exit, yanked it open and traipsed out, letting the door slam behind her. Two minutes later Nick poked his head in, the light from outside washing out the image on the wall and casting a shadow of his head. Jostled out of his flow by Nick's silhouette, Aaron looked up.

"Hi. Did you need something? We're in the middle of a meeting."

Nick's expression rose. "Oh, no. I don't need anything." He remained stationary, his head still blacking out the image on the wall. Aaron stared back at him impatiently.

"…Would you like to come in?"

"No thanks. Would _you_ like to come out?" he responded, smirking.

"Nick, I really don't have time for this. What do you want?"

"Just come to the door. You're going to want to make time for this, trust me."

Groaning, Aaron walked to the lantern in the middle of the room, quickly drawing the lights back to a full glow.

"This meeting will resume in five minutes," he called to the men at the table as he walked to the door. "I don't want a single one of you gone when I get back." He stuck his hand in the door next to Nick's head, pulling it open.

"Alright, Nick, what is so extremely critical that you would deem it necessary to interrupt an important meet-". The air left his lungs; Dorothy stood before him, Glinda and Nick at her side. The panic in her eyes had left, and was replaced by the unforgettable warmth he'd come to know so many years ago. Her face glowed.

"Scarecrow." she whispered. She leapt into him, pressing her face against his neck. Looking at Nick and Glinda in a stupor, the corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. He closed his eyes, pulling his arms around her. Refusing to let go, he heaved her back with him to the door, pressing it open and shouting inward:

"The meeting is canceled!"

A small cheer resonated from inside. He continued to hold her, laughing under his breath. Nick and Glinda advanced, joining in the embrace. After a moment, her friends released her.

"You remember…how? What happened?" Afraid she may only be a perfect mirage that would disappear should he free her, Aaron kept his hands on her shoulders.

Nick grinned smugly. "I showed her the old playroom."

Aaron sighed, pulling her close again. "You're a genius, Nick!"

"Well!" Nick straightened, raising his eyebrows at the acknowledgement and preserving his expression of triumph.

"I walked out the door and they were both just standing there!" Glinda beamed, running her hand over Dorothy's hair in a maternal fashion. "What a wonderful turn of events, and just in time for the ball! Darling, we're so glad to see you! We never expected you to be so young!"

Aaron recalled Dorothy's displeasure earlier at having been brought in by the wheelchair. Finally, he freed her from his embrace, smirking.

"I'm sorry about the wheelchair."

"You were only taking good care of your old, decrepit friend. It was a sweet gesture; embarrassing, but sweet."

His heart still pounding, Aaron let out another breath of content. The first time he'd seen her was such a confusing blur, he'd barely noticed how stunning she was. Captivated, he suddenly felt at a loss for words. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"You didn't eat anything at breakfast; you must be starved." He took her by the arm again, leading the group back to the palace.

"Woops," Nick chimed in, drawing up alongside Dorothy and taking her other arm. "I may or may not have liquored her up over by the train tracks."

Aaron craned his glance over Dorothy at Nick. "What?"

Dorothy laughed. "It was only a glass of wine. My head _is_ swimming a little, but I think it would be regardless; I still feel like this is all a perfect dream I'll wake up from at any second."

"Don't you dare!" Glinda said. The four friends walked in a line across the palace grounds from Aaron's emerald tower into the palace.

Inside, they sat again at the dining table where a meal was served, this time with a spirit of ease. Dorothy devoured her lunch, laughing and conversing with her old companions.

"You look so different, Scarecrow…if it weren't for your voice I would never believe it was you. It feels strange calling you Aaron now. Did I lose my Scarecrow?"

"You haven't lost me! I'm exactly the same Scarecrow as always, only stronger."

Nick rolled his eyes.

"Aaron's only the first name I took; I kept Scarecrow as a last name. You can call me whatever you like, on one condition." He looked at her sternly.

"What's that?"

"Don't ever forget me again."

Dorothy smiled, placing her hand on his arm. He did feel stronger.

"Never."

"Seems to me there's only one thing that would guarantee that," Nick started. "Let's keep her prisoner in OZ!"

"We all know she can't stay forever," Glinda said. "She has family in Kansas." Her expression flashed. "We could attempt to bring them here…for now we only have the mirror, but I'm sure after a while it might be possible to fashion another device similar to the Nome King's belt..."

"I don't have anyone." Dorothy interrupted. Her friends stared back apprehensively.

"…Em and Henry died."

A few seconds of silence passed before Aaron spoke.

"We're so sorry."

"Dorothy," Glinda started. "Would you like to stay? I mean, permanently this time? We don't want to keep you here against your will…but I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say we really do want you. Think about it."

"There's nothing to think about. This is my home; it always has been. I'd love to stay, if you'll have me."

Nick, Glinda, and Aaron looked at one another, grinning. "I think this occasion calls for a toast!" Nick shouted, standing and raising his glass. The others followed suit.

"To all of us, together for good!"

Dorothy chimed in, her glass still raised. "To family."

Nick, Aaron, and Glinda echoed her words. "To family!"

At that moment, the bald manservant entered the room, bowing.

"Your Majesty," he rose, continuing, "I've received notice that the royal family of Ev has arrived in OZ on the carpet you sent; their vehicle should be entering the palace grounds at any time."

"Thank you, Victor." Aaron answered. "We'll come out to meet them."

Dorothy waited for Victor to leave before speaking.

"Do I know these people? Or should I? Ev is a neighboring country, isn't it? I think I remember visiting there at one point..." Aaron looked at Nick warningly; Everard was a subject best saved for a more fitting time.

Nick pulled her chair back, offering his hand. "No. You knew Queen Evelyn, and probably her son Evardo, who took the throne after her. He's been dead for some years now. The royals visiting today are Evelyn's grandson Elias and his family."

Dorothy expelled a sigh. "I'm grateful for that; my memory has about had it for one day."

The foursome presently made their way to the front entrance of the Emerald Palace, standing at the base of the steps in the warmth of the afternoon suns. Before long, one of the royal cars turned into the bend of the road leading up to the palace, daylight glaring off of its glossy black veneer. Heavy tires munched over the emerald cobblestone path, slowing as they neared the front of the building. The vehicle stopped gracefully, the engine purring for several moments before tripping to a silent halt. Two servants advanced, one attending to the bags in the trunk, the other grasping the handle to the rear door, clacking it open and sweeping backward in one fluid motion.

An engraved silver cane slipped out from the shrouded darkness of the cab, and an aged man draped in glossy grey and black furs emerged. A crown of silver and diamonds encircled his head of thick, white hair. Upon seeing Aaron, he extended the arm not attached to the cane, advancing in a hobble.

"My heavens, is this the human Scarecrow of which I've heard so much? What a change indeed!"

Aaron smiled, bowing in reverence to the elder king. "King Elias. I'm not surprised you were able to recognize me; your discernment is as keen as ever." The men shook hands heartily. "It's been quite a number of years; you look well!"

"You needn't plaster me with flattery, Scarecrow. I get enough of that from my subjects!" the king quipped. Aaron laughed politely.

"Your Majesty, I'd like to introduce to you a very old friend of mine, Miss Dorothy Gale." He led Elias to Dorothy, who bowed courteously.

"It's a pleasure, Your Majesty."

The old man stepped closer, squinting his cataract eyes to gain a better view. "Old indeed! You can't be a day over twenty, I daresay!" He turned his gaze to Aaron. "I don't believe I've seen such an exquisite creature since the days of Ozma's youth!"

Aaron glanced at Dorothy; her cheeks flushed slightly from the flattering remark. For a brief moment, he failed to remember both his visitor and the entire world around him; she _was_ exquisite. Nick's throat cleared, plunging him out of the air and back into the front courtyard of the palace, where the face of someone unknown stood expectantly before him.

"I said, this is my grandson, Evan." Elias repeated.

Embarrassed, Aaron extended his hand in greeting. "Evan, I'm glad to make your acquaintance. Welcome to OZ."

"Your Majesty." The young man bowed. Straightening again, he looked with interest at Dorothy, then back at Aaron, clearly desiring an introduction.

"Dorothy, may I introduce Prince Evan of Ev." Aaron stepped back politely, allowing Evan to come forth. The young man bent, taking her hand and kissing it.

"Miss Gale." He stared at her like a child at a piece of birthday cake. "When we arrived in OZ I would've sworn it was the most beautiful thing in creation; I can see now I was mistaken." His advances nauseating her, Dorothy replied politely.

"How do you do."

Aaron opened his mouth, intending to hamper Evan's flirtations by drawing him into an introduction to Nick and Glinda, but was obstructed by Elias who grabbed his arm, pulling him away.

"And the ball is tomorrow then, Scarecrow? These old bones don't see much excitement nowadays; this is something I've been looking forward to with great anticipation since your invitation arrived!" He turned to Nick and Glinda, his hand still clamped onto Aaron.

"Ah, Nicholas Chopper! You haven't aged a bit! I can see I must get a flesh of tin for myself; fifty years older than me and you still look as youthful as you had when I was a boy! Such injustice!" he laughed. Nick smiled, nodding graciously.

"Thank you for the kind words, Your Highness."

"Glinda," Elias addressed the good witch, at last releasing Aaron to take her hand. "You're as enchanting as ever." Glinda curtsied. "No doubt this entire event has been managed by yourself; your reputation for throwing a good party is unsurpassed, I've always said!"

"I certainly hope it will prove to be worth your long journey, Your Majesty. Thank you so much for coming." Glinda replied. "Were you comfortable in your flight across the desert?"

The old man chuckled. "Ah well, I must say Evan managed it with much more ease than myself; an old body such as mine makes it difficult to ride atop flying carpets! We thank you, nonetheless, for providing it. Otherwise our presence on this happy occasion wouldn't be possible."

"It was our pleasure." Aaron said. "I hope you'll feel free to use it anytime. We were expecting Everett and Delia as well; I hope they're not ill?"

"Ah, no, they're fine, just fine…" Elias paused. "There've been an unsettling number of murders in Ev recently. I asked Everett to stay behind and manage things."

"Really…that is troubling." Aaron's brow crumpled. The same thing had been happening in OZ; the faces of new victims had graced the headlines of the newspapers nearly every day for the past eight months. "How long has this been going on?"

"Probably the last eight months or so, I'd say. Ye gods!" Elias began shaking out of his coat. "I've forgotten how much warmer it is here!" A servant girl rushed over, helping him to remove the massive pile of fur and nearly falling over from its weight as she bowed before taking her leave. Aaron's attention had been on Evan and Dorothy the entire time; he'd watched anxiously as they disappeared through the front doors of the palace, Dorothy on his arm.

"It's much cooler inside, Your Majesty," Aaron started. "Come in and make yourself comfortable."

Inside the palace, Aaron immediately scanned the vicinity for any sign of Dorothy and Evan; they were gone. The group lingered in the hall for a moment before he directed a servant to take Elias to his rooms.

"Please, take your time to rest and refresh yourself. I'll send someone for you at dinner; we have some exciting entertainment planned for you during the meal." Considering his words before he spoke, he went on. "It seems your grandson has gone missing; I hope he won't miss the show."

"I wouldn't worry about him; it appears as though he's already found his source of entertainment for the trip." Elias winked.

Aaron's teeth gritted. The King of Ev having rounded into the east wing with his attendant, Aaron turned to Glinda.

"Find her, would you? And immediately; I don't trust that kid."

Glinda smirked. "He's hardly a kid, Aaron. Probably only a few years younger than your mortal body, I'd venture. He seems harmless, anyway."

"You think so?" Aaron retorted. "Because for a moment I could scarcely tell whether that was a fur jacket he was wearing or if it was an actual wolf greeting her."

Glinda laughed. "I thought you had no interest in women! What was it you called them? Oh yes, 'grasping, insipid creatures'?"

Aaron's face burned. "I'm _not_ interested in women; I'm interested in Dorothy." Immediately he'd regretted his choice of words. Reddening, he shot back defensively. "Just go and get her out of the clutches of that hound, would you? I'm sure she's desperate to escape and is only being gracious to a guest."

"Oh, surely," Glinda mused. "I intended to go and get her regardless; we need to find something for her to wear tomorrow."

"Good. Off you go then." he replied callously, turning from her and trekking the hall toward the library.

Dinner that night was equally maddening for Aaron; Evan intercepted Dorothy the moment she entered the banquet hall, coaxing her to a spot at the table far from him and perching next to her, pulling his chair closer. He remained glued to her side the entire evening. Elias leeched onto Aaron, droning on about the affairs of his kingdom and the difficulties of old age. He periodically nodded and mouthed words of agreement in order to appear engaged, but his attentions remained fully on the Wolf.

After the meal, the lights dimmed. Acrobats and painted faced dancers bounded in; pyrotechnics, lights and streaming bands of colorful ribbon exploded across the stage. Oblivious to the spectacle, Aaron's glance lingered on the young couple seated far off. Periodically Evan would lean in, whispering something apparently amusing to Dorothy, as each time she laughed, responding with words inaudible over the clamor of the show.

At the end of the night he remained in the banquet hall only long enough to fulfill the kingly protocol of thanking the Evians for their attendance and wishing them a good night. Promptly after this he removed himself to the library, attempting to bury his envy with the familiar comfort of the written word. As the night drew on, the letters on the pages of the manuscripts he'd been reading began to burn against his tired eyes, communicating to his brain that he must rest. He loathed the sensation, briefly longing for the days when he was an Immortal and could study the entire night without tiring. He closed his eyes, pressing against them in an attempt to revitalize his vision.

"Aaron?"

He startled at the sound of Dorothy's voice in the doorway. He looked at the massive hanging clock across the room. It was one thirty.

"It's late," he smiled. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

She closed the door behind her. "Shouldn't you?" Crossing the room, she approached the table and leaned her elbows onto it. Narrowing her eyes at the pile of manuscripts in front of him, she pulled at the corner of one of them, lifting it closer to her face. "The Art of Leadership in Wartime." she read the title aloud. "Doing a little light reading before bed?"

Aaron forced a smile, taking the document and tossing it on top of the others before raking them all into a neat stack and shoving them collectively across the table top. She leaned against the table, folding her arms.

"That show tonight was amazing; I've never seen anything like it in my life!"

Immediately Aaron pictured Evan's fawning over Dorothy during the entire event. "It was quite a display." he spoke flatly. Forgoing a fitting segue into the topic of Evan, he continued. "It seems you've captured the attentions of the prince; he's quite a charmer, isn't he?"

Dorothy raised her brows. "Evan? He's revolting."

His muscles relaxed. Pursing his lips, he tried to prevent a smile. "I see." Satisfied, he changed the subject.

"What brought you into the library?"

"I never got a chance to come back for my book; I left it on the table…" She stood on her toes, searching the length of the long tabletop for her honeybee book. Aaron wrinkled his forehead, turning and reaching to the ground. He surfaced, holding the blue hardback in his hand.

"_Ten Methods of_ _Biomolecular Manipulation of the Honey Bee"? _He handed it to her, laughing. "I thought one of the servants had left it by mistake after dusting. What are you reading that for?"

Taking it, she retorted, pointing to the stack of texts on the table. "I could ask you the same question."

He shrugged. "I'm the King of OZ; it might be a good idea to know how to protect it should anything happen."

Sensing his resistance, she changed the subject. "George brought me here earlier today; she's a great tour guide."

"George!" Aaron ejected happily. "I hope she was respectful; she can be a bit saucy…"

"I know." she laughed. "She's a sweet girl though."

"I'm glad to hear she's alright; I haven't seen her in the last couple of days. She tends to spend a lot of her time in the prison; she has an affinity for rats." He smiled wryly.

"And birds." she added, shuddering.

He chuckled. "You know," he started, looking at the book in her hand. "There are tens of thousands of books in this library. If I remember correctly…" He stood, jogging over to a small glass cabinet along the wall behind them, opening it and scanning his hand across a line of books before stopping abruptly, plucking a small volume from the assembly. He rushed back, standing at her side and holding out the book. "You're more of a poetry kind of girl."

"His Majesty will be happy to know my academic interests have expanded vastly since I was _seven_." she said. Looking down at the book, she beamed. "William Cullen Bryant!? Where did you get a copy of this?"

"The Wizard left it." he replied. "Don't you remember? This was your favorite."

She thumbed through the pages, her expression lifting. "Yes! You kept it all these years?"

"I never throw away books; that would be sacrilege!" he ejected lightheartedly.

Walking to a nearby couch, Dorothy sat, staring into the pages. Black ink on aging leaves of paper leapt up at her, igniting an epiphany. She looked up at him.

"It was you; you were the one who sparked my thirst for knowledge. Em and Henry said it all started when I was about seven; one day I decided I loved books, and read everything they had in the house, no matter what it was..." Aaron crossed the room, joining her on the couch. She continued, "Em nearly killed herself earning the money to send me to special schools, buy me books, everything. They spared nothing for my education because they could see how passionate I was about it, how happy it made me." Still glancing up at him from the open book, she repeated herself.

"It was because of you."

He leaned back, turning his glance to her and smiling. "You were a naturally intelligent child; I only read to you a little, nurturing what was already there."

She handed him the book, resting her head on his shoulder. "Is it too late for me to learn more?"

"It's not too late for anything." Savoring her touch on his shoulder, he thought on his own words. He'd never gotten a chance to love Ozma, but like Glinda said, having Dorothy back again was almost like getting a second round. Maybe it really wasn't too late for some things.

"Then read to me again, until I'm a genius like you." Her words shot into his heart, causing it to swell. He lifted the book from where she'd opened it, reading aloud:

"Beneath the forest's skirts I rest, whose branching pines rise dark and high, and hear the breezes of the west among the threaded foliage sigh. Sweet Zephyr! Why that sound of woe? Is not thy home among the flowers? Do not the bright June roses blow to meet thy kiss at morning hours?..."

Dorothy closed her eyes. Aaron's voice was like a cool stream, quenching a thirst that began ninety Ozian years ago.

Chapter sixteen

"Whoa, Nick!" Aaron shielded his eyes against the glare of Nick's tuxedo.

"Pretty sharp, eh?"

The tux was made entirely of glossy, polished tin. Aaron stared at his reflection in the metal, smoothing his hair and buttoning his collar. "And useful; hold still!" He grabbed at Nick's shoulder.

"Watch the sheen!" Nick jerked a cloth out of his pocket, rubbing the spot Aaron had touched.

"That has got to be the most stunning display of impracticality I've ever seen."

"I wouldn't have it any other way! Speaking of stunning impracticality, where's your crown? And jacket, for that matter? I spent an extra hour polishing and I'm still ready before you? Let's go! My date's waiting!"

Aaron lifted his jacket from a standing clothes hanger and slid his arms into it. It was long and black with gold embroidery along the edges that matched the tint of his hair.

"You have a date?"

"You don't?"

"I kind of thought we'd just go together." Aaron dropped a gold chest piece with a center pendant of the symbol of OZ over his shoulders.

"Oh, but honey! I didn't get you a corsage!"

Aaron glared. "Hilarious."

"I find it hard to believe the King of OZ couldn't scare up a date for a dance." Nick leaned against the wall, watching Aaron's reflection in the mirror as he fitted his crown to his head.

"It's just as well to me; the last thing I need is some vein, catty socialite clinging to me all evening."

"Ouch!" Nick laughed. "You do realize that by showing up unaccompanied you'll elicit the clinging of about _two hundred_ vein, catty socialites?"

Aaron groaned. Since he'd become human, women were the blight of his existence. Nobility from all over OZ suddenly began pelting him from every direction with their unmarried daughters. Though most of them were attractive and poised, their grace seemed to him an artificial veneer easily seen through. He met tens of dozens of them at dinners, balls, sporting events, and other social activities Glinda had forced him to attend, finding nothing in common with any of them. They agreed with him on every subject, having no opinions or interests of their own. He saw them as nothing but beautifully painted china dolls: made of frail substance, and hollow on the inside.

"Does your friend have a friend?"

"Lots of them. Unfortunately for you, the ball started ten minutes ago." Nick opened the door, stepping aside and ushering Aaron out into the hall. "I only wish I had your problem; all those lovely ladies!" he whistled. The men headed for the Great Hall; even from the second floor of the west wing, the purring of voices and music could be heard.

"They're all phonies, Nick."

"It's only a ball; relax! Have some fun for once. You don't need a dream woman," he started. "Just a soft body to dance with…or in your case, two hundred." He winked.

"If there was even one woman in existence, Nick," Aaron went on. "One who wasn't just a gorgeous face, but intelligent! I mean enough to hold decent conversations, with views and ideas! A girl who wasn't full of herself or her upbringing, but humble, and genuinely kind…I honestly think I'd drop dead."

"Only one woman I know of who fits that selective a bill."

Aaron paused. "Who?"

"Dorothy."

Aaron shook his head. "Don't be absurd."

"She's gorgeous isn't she?" Nick questioned.

He thought of the way she looked outside yesterday. "Yes…"

"And intelligent?"

"She's very intelligent, but that's not the-"

"Kind and unassuming?"

"Nick…"

"What did I miss?"

Aaron scoffed. "We're talking about Ozian _women_. Dorothy's not a woman, she's…Dorothy." It was true he'd been attracted to her warmth and beauty, and even jealous of Evan's attentions to her. But that was only out of a protective feeling for her…they'd barely gotten her back before he butted in, trying to steal her away. He tried to discount his feelings in the library last night, condensing them to nothing more than hormones and a tired mind.

"She's twenty seven."

"Enough, Nick." The men rounded the corner to where the doors opening out onto the balcony of the Great Hall were located. A small collection of dignitaries were there, waiting to enter and be announced. A striking creature in a floor length, lavender Grecian gown stood next to Glinda. She turned, smiling at Aaron.

"Hi."

He forgot to breathe. "Hi."

"Rosalind, baby!"

A titian haired bombshell with pouty lips and an exquisite shape embraced Nick.

"Look at that dress! Have you ever seen anything more stunning in your life, Aaron?"

Still facing Dorothy, he spoke. "Never."

The doors to the balcony opened, the group of nobles lining up behind them.

"The Duke and Duchess of Gillikin." A voice boomed out into the crowd, introducing the first of the two to leave the outer hall. Being the king, Aaron would be announced last. He inched to the back of the group. At the far end of the east wing, miniature images of Elias and Evan appeared, growing as they approached the doors.

"His Grace, the Emperor of the West Country, Nicholas Chopper." Nick and Rosalind disappeared through the doors. Glinda stood next to Dorothy, speaking in low tones and tucking back a stray lock of her hair.

"Her Excellency, the Witch of Quadling Country, Glinda the Good." Glinda picked up the end of her gown and took the arm of her date, exiting into the Hall. Dorothy stood alone, unsure of her place in the announcements.

"Dorothy!" Evan waved from further down the hall. His grandfather tugged at his arm, forcing him to stay back and assist him in his hobble toward the doors. Dorothy turned a wide eyed glance to Aaron. Silently, she mouthed something to him:

_Help_.

"Lord and Lady Thirod, of Munchkin Country."

Evan was as a giant, panting dog being held back on a leash; they drew nearer. Aaron paced to Dorothy, offering his arm.

"In need of a rescuer?"

She slid her arm into his. "Desperately."

He looked at those who remained; by the time they made it into the Great Hall, the Dog would be released from his harness and poor Dorothy would be doused in drool.

"Let's go." He led her to the doors, cutting in front of the Baron of China Country. They crossed the threshold.

Inside, a mass of black tuxedos and colorful silk covered the level below, voices and laughter lingering in the spaces between. The announcer looked casually in the direction of the next pair to be made known, then straightened upon recognizing Aaron. Aaron leaned in, telling him Dorothy's name. The man banged a heavy staff on the floor, silencing the crowd. Everyone stood, facing the doors.

"His Imperial Majesty, The King of OZ, Aaron Scarecrow, and Miss Dorothy Gale of Kansas."

The Ozians bowed in unison. Four hundred envious eyes bored into Dorothy. Aaron reached to their interlocked arms, placing his hand over hers and guiding her to the grand staircase leading to the level below. Her face burned; everyone was staring, whispering amongst themselves as they descended the steps.

"The Baron and Baroness of China Country..." the announcer continued in the background.

"Your Majesty." A middle aged woman draped in heavy jewels approached, curtsying. "Who is this enchanting young woman on your arm?"

Aaron smiled proudly. "An old friend of mine, Dorothy Gale. Dorothy, allow me to introduce Carmella Gossamer; she was Ozma's personal jeweler and is the finest goldsmith in OZ." Dorothy nodded to her.

"You flatter me, Your Highness!" Carmella examined the twosome. "My, what a handsome couple you make!" She turned in the direction of Dorothy's statue. "And you have the same name as the Aura Dorothy; any relation?"

"You're looking at her." Aaron said, smiling.

Carmella responded loudly, "_The_ Dorothy Gale? The Aura?" A small crowd began to assemble. "My heavens! _The_ Dorothy Gale! I remember being told stories about you as a child; why, you're so young!"

By then, a mass of Ozians had gathered near. Carmella turned to them. "It's her! It's_ the_ Dorothy Gale, the Aura!" At once Dorothy was inundated with admirers; new faces shoved through the growing crowd every second, shaking her hand and introducing themselves.

"His Imperial Majesty, King Elias of Ev, and his Grace, Prince Evan of Ev." The voice of the announcer could barely be heard over the clamor of the swarm. Reaching the main floor, Evan scaled the membrane of the crowd, attempting to find a way in.

Sensing Dorothy's overwhelm at the sudden burst of attention, Aaron shouted above the noise. "Give her some room!" The mass reluctantly withdrew, still chattering excitedly amongst themselves.

He looked toward the orchestra. "Is this a ball or isn't it? Where's the music?" The orchestra had abandoned its sheet music and was standing, trying to discern the source of the commotion. Obediently, they seated themselves again and began playing a slow waltz. Aaron took Dorothy's waist and pulled her out of the crowd, dancing with her. The Hall rolled around them as they moved to the music.

"Aaron…I'm not an Aura. Why did you lead her to believe that? Now the entire country is going to think I'm something special; I can't deceive people like that."

"You're already something special to them; you're probably the most famous Aura in the history of OZ, Dorothy."

"I'm _not_ an Aura; Nick said it was only an honorary title. And frankly, I don't understand that either; I've never done anything worthy of tribute in OZ."

Aaron's forehead wrinkled. "You're joking."

She stared back, stone faced.

"You may never have been an Aura in the formal sense of the word, but the statue is entirely warranted; you've been a legend in OZ since your first visit."

"I don't want people thinking I'm something I'm not, Aaron. Honestly, I'd love it if you'd just take the statue down, please."

He stopped, holding her still on the dance floor as dozens of couples continued to swirl around them. His eyes locked onto her.

"What is it about Kansas that makes you forget who you are?"

"I know who I am."

"So do I, and the statue stays."

She glowered, frightening Aaron into the addition of an appeasing stipulation. "At least long enough for me to prove to you it belongs there. If I haven't convinced you within, say, a month, it comes down. Do we have a deal?"

She smiled, rolling her eyes. "Fine."

"Thank you." He returned her smile. "Now forget about everyone else and dance with me."

He pulled her back into the movement of the crowd where they danced for the next hour without ceasing. Each new song drew their bodies closer together until eventually they were all the other could see, the Great Hall around them having vanished entirely.

"Dorothy!" Evan rapped at her arm.

"Hmm?" she answered dreamily, still swimming in two matching emerald lakes. Her glance floated in the direction of the disembodied voice.

"Evan!"

"You promised you'd dance with me." Evan replied, wounded.

Still in his arms, she turned back to Aaron. "I did promise."

He smiled, the residual effects of their private world on the dance floor still ensnaring him.

"Okay."

She withdrew reluctantly, dragging her hands down his arms as she left. Annoyed by the scene, Evan bowed to Aaron before offering his arm to Dorothy.

"Your Majesty."

Aaron's gaze lingered on her. He lifted his hand to Evan.

"Yeah."

The music started again, and Dorothy and Evan disappeared into the crowd. Aaron stood alone, the feel of Dorothy's touch still lingering on his shoulders.

"Well, hey!" Nick emerged, an old fashioned in each hand. He sipped at one, presenting the other to Aaron. "Do you realize that that is your second old fashioned of the evening? The ice melted in the first while I stood by holding it like an ass, waiting for you two to stop dancing!"

"Thanks!" Aaron coated his throat with the cool liquid of the drink.

"Don't mention it." Nick looked at him expectedly. "So?"

"So, what?"

"So now's the part where you confess your boyish infatuation with Dorothy as was clearly detectable by entire room for the last entire hour."

"Don't be stupid, Nick. I was only a willing pawn to keep Evan at bay."

"In that case," Nick pointed to the dance floor, the ice clinking in his glass. "You're not doing your job." Evan oiled across the floor with Dorothy in his arms.

"I suppose it's time to deploy the reserved force." Aaron glugged the rest of his drink and handed the empty glass to Nick who in turn tacked it onto the tray of a passing waiter, following close behind and calling after him.

"You _really_ need to stop reading so much military paraphernalia."

Aaron crossed the room to the covered statue and tapped at the microphone that had been set up next to it.

"May I have everyone's attention, please." The orchestra quieted and the room grew still. All gathered eagerly around the statue. Aaron hated public speaking; it was one of the many reasons he'd doubted Ozma's decision to make him king. He exhaled.

"Eight months ago, OZ lost a ruler and an Aura on the same day. Ozma Pastoria was a true servant of her people; as someone who knew her personally, spending decades as her advisor, I can assure you not a breath of her life was wasted. Her character was astounding; her desire to uphold and protect the people of OZ repeatedly took precedence over her own comfort and desires. She ruled us with love and benevolence, every decision carefully made with our own best interests at heart. As an Aura, she possesses the very spirit of OZ, and that spirit will live on forever among us. This statue is an embodiment of that truth; whenever you look at it, remember her love for each one of you, and write it on your hearts to strive to live with the same passion and strength she exuded every day of her long life."

Aaron pulled at the green silk. It fell, billowing to the floor behind the effigy of Ozma. The crowd breathed a sigh of awe, cheering and clapping at the revealed likeness of their dearly loved Aura. Dorothy stood at the front of the throng, Evan's arm wrapped possessively around her. The statue seemed strange to her, as it was a likeness of an older Ozma than the one she knew. She stepped forward out of Evan's grasp. The white marble woman was positively stunning; she was depicted wearing a flowing gown and a headdress of poppies. Like all the others, her hands were formed in the symbol of the Aura. Dorothy reflected on the image, longing for her childhood friend. A cool metal hand placed itself on her back.

"It looks exactly like her; uncanny." Nick's eyes rimmed with moisture.

"She was so beautiful."

"With an even lovelier spirit." he answered. They watched as the guests weaved in and out, taking turns admiring the statue. After a few minutes the music started again.

"You plan on saving a dance for me?" Nick smiled.

"Let's go!" Dorothy took his hand, pulling him out into the crowd.

The evening went on for the next few hours, the number of laughing, dancing, and drinking Ozians gradually dwindling. After bidding Glinda goodnight, Aaron circled the floor, searching for Dorothy. He'd anticipated finding her trapped with Evan again, but as the crowd thinned it was easier to tell she wasn't in the room at all. He saw Nick and Rosalind slow dancing, their foreheads pressed together and eyes closed. He jogged over.

"Have you seen Dorothy anywhere?"

"Look, Evan, I already told you I don't know- oh." Seeing Aaron, Nick closed his eyes, losing himself again in the warmth of the goddess in his arms. "Hey Aaron."

Aaron stood by, waiting for Nick's answer for several moments before repeating himself.

"Where is she then?"

"Shhh…" Nick pointed his finger out against Aaron's face.

He jerked back. "Nick!"

Eyes still closed, Nick pointed in the direction of the doors to the balcony outside.

"I thought you said you didn't know where she was."

"Then why did you ask again? She swore me to secrecy against Evan."

Aaron's eyes darted to the balcony doors. "Thanks."

Nick waved him away, pressing himself closer to Rosalind and swaying to the music. Aaron walked to the balcony doors. The air outside was perfect: warm and clear. A lavender dress leaned against the railing along the veranda. He drew next to her, slouching onto the barrier.

"Hi."

Dorothy startled. Seeing Aaron, she exhaled. "You scared me; I thought you were Evan!" They both laughed.

"That makes twice tonight I've been mistaken for that cad."

"He's not a cad, Aaron, he's just…"

"Mad about you."

Dorothy groaned. "What do I do?"

He shrugged. "I'm happy to do what I can to help; if you need anyone to dance with again, for example… only to keep him away, I mean…"

She smiled, taking his hand. "I think I hear him coming now."

The music from the Hall streamed out onto the balcony from the open door. He drew her close, and they glided together under the stars. Time passed; he didn't know how much. The moment was like a dream from which he never wanted to stir.

"There they are!" Nick's voice trailed from the entrance to the balcony. He held Rosalind's hand, drawing her along with him to where Aaron and Dorothy stood swaying in each other's arms.

"This ball is dead, man; let's go have some real fun!"

"It's after midnight, Nick." Aaron held onto Dorothy, not wanting to stop the dance.

"What's your point?"

"I'm leading a military training early in the morning."

"Let Tik Tok handle it, or better yet, cancel. Those soldiers are going to be so worn out from your damned trainings they won't have the strength to fight!"

Dorothy stopped the dance. "Tik Tok? I remember him! The mechanical man! Why wasn't he here tonight? I would have loved to see him."

"I invited him." Aaron shrugged.

"Half a ton of copper doesn't make for much of a dancer." Nick chimed in. "I'm dying for some excitement; let's go to the Poisson Luxe!"

"No."

"Dorothy!" Evan materialized on the balcony, running up to the group. "I thought I'd lost you!"

"You were so close!" Nick laughed to Dorothy. Aaron impulsively drew his arm tighter around her waist.

Evan stopped in front of the foursome. "What are we talking about?"

Aaron shot Nick a look of warning. Ignoring him, Nick spouted out.

"We're going out on the town; want to come?"

"Sounds fantastic! Where?"

"My brother owns the Poisson Luxe; it's a killer night club." Aaron heard Rosalind speak for the first time that night.

"What do you say, Aaron? You can't deny the wishes of your Evian guest! It would be bad form!"

"You all go; I'm tired."

"Boo!" Nick hissed.

Dorothy leaned into Aaron, looking up at him. "I'd love to see the city at night."

He felt his insides melt. Expelling a breath, he conceded. "Okay, let's do it."

"Yeah!" Nick cheered.

"I don't want to draw a crowd though; if we're going out, let's keep it private. No one finds out who we are. Evan and Dorothy, you're fine, but Nick and I will need disguises. Everyone get changed and meet out in the back courtyard in twenty minutes. We can't take a royal car, either…I _really_ don't want to ask this, but Nick, can you drive?"

"Absolutely!"

"Rosalind, why don't you come back to my room? I'm sure I have something you can wear." Dorothy said.

"Great!" Rosalind left Nick's side and strode over to Dorothy.

"See you all soon!" Evan exited the balcony in a rush.

Dorothy kissed Aaron on the cheek and looked into his eyes, smiling.

"Thanks."

She and Rosalind walked together to the doors, Aaron staring after her on a cloud. He suddenly noticed Nick staring at him.

"What?"

Smirking, he answered. "Just waiting for you to drop dead."

#

Under a veil of darkness, the group of five gathered around Nick's silver sports car. Aaron wore a false mustache and glasses and had slicked his hair back into a neat style, different from his usual tousle. Black shoe polish was combed into it, darkening the color. Nick had more to conceal; he wore a jacket with a high neck, gloves, a stylish hat, and had painted his face to look like a citizen of China Country. They crowded into the vehicle, Dorothy and Nick in the front, Aaron, Evan, and Rosalind in the back.

Nick sped over the back roads from the palace into the heart of Emerald City. He weaved in and out of traffic, ignoring stop signs and drifting through turns.

"Slow down! You're going to get us all killed!" Aaron shouted from the backseat.

"I know what I'm doing!" Nick accelerated through a changing traffic signal, then slowed behind a giant truck, tailgating it and honking his horn. "Ugh!"

"I swear this man has an underdeveloped hippocampus; he has no sense of caution!" Aaron raved. Dorothy turned around in her seat, pausing for a moment before speaking.

"That's wrong…"

"Excuse me?"

"That's not right." The car still stalled behind the truck, the lights from outside buildings and signs blinking in through the tinted windows.

"The hippocampus is involved in memory; it's the amygdala that controls fear."

Aaron sat in the back with his mouth open. She was right.

Nick exploded with laughter. "Good grief! One of him was bad enough; now he has a female counterpart!"

Feeling guilty, Dorothy bit her lip and smiled repentantly at Aaron. "I get the parts of the brain mixed up all the time; there're way too many for anyone to remember all of them accurately…"

He cut her off. "No, you're right; don't apologize." She smiled again, turning back around in her seat. Miffed, Aaron turned his glance out the window at the city lights. Finding an opening in the road, Nick pressed his foot on the gas and rocketed in front of the truck. Dorothy changed the subject, asking Rosalind about her brother's club. The others in the car conversed while Aaron remained silent, staring out the window. No one had ever corrected him before. At least, no one had ever corrected him and been right. He looked over at her, his thoughts rewinding to when he'd described his ideal woman to Nick. Her dark hair fluttered behind her in the breeze from the open car window. She'd called him out, yet somehow managed to be unpretentious about it; charm overshadowed his embarrassment. Moments later, the car screeched to a stop in front of a tall, glowing building.

"Take good care of this car, partner." Nick slipped a wad of cash to a pimple faced valet. The kid took the keys, staring hungrily back and forth between his dream car and the giant tip.

"Yes, sir!"

Evan opened Dorothy's door. She took his hand, stepping out of the car. Blue and purple track lighting gyrated through the atmosphere outside the building; the bass from inside the club thumped against the walls. A doorman lugged at the entrance, untying the floodgate between the outside world and the blasting music within.

A soft, blue light filtered through the inside of the club; every wall was a towering aquarium filled with fish. Sharks, manta rays, and schools of tiny butterfly fish coursed through the liquid world around them. Several large tubes reaching to the ceiling were scattered throughout the huge room, also holding several varieties of aquatic life.

"Did I tell you this place was amazing? Dorothy, look at this…" Nick pulled Dorothy to one of the walls where a massive whale shark grazed the glass as it passed, casting a shadow over the room. Dorothy put her hand to the wall.

"This is incredible!"

"Right!?"

The group seated themselves at a table near the stage and a cocktail waitress approached.

"Five martinis, and make em' dirty!" Nick shouted over the music.

"Ros!" A tall man with bright orange hair came up to the table. Rosalind stood, hugging him.

"Everyone, this is my brother, Marcus. Marcus, this is Dorothy, Evan, and uh…" She'd remembered the king and her date's desire to remain anonymous. "Allen," pointing to Aaron, "and Nate." pointing to Nick.

"Hey, glad to have you!" Marcus shook their hands. "You talk this girl into singing yet?"

"You sing?" Evan asked, his voice barely audible over the noise.

"Only when forced." Rosalind elbowed her brother in the ribs, punishing him for putting her on the spot.

"She's fantastic," Nick started. "This is where we met! They call her Red Ros! Sing for them, Ros!"

"No one wants to hear me sing, _Nate_." Rosalind sat back down. "Let's just enjoy our drinks."

"Such a primadonna!" Marcus yelled, pulling her back out of her seat. "Let's force her!"

"Yes, let's!" Nick said, drawing closer. He and Marcus each took a hold of one of her arms, lifting her off of the floor and carrying her over to the platform. Marcus jumped onstage, keeping Rosalind prisoner at his side; the music stopped. Giving in, Rosalind whispered her song choice to him. He ushered over a member of the band, giving him the key. Grabbing the mic, he shouted out to the room.

"We have a surprise act in the Poisson Luxe tonight, people!" The crowd yelled in approval.

"The scarlet flower, Red Ros!"

The glass of the aquarium changed behind her, morphing into a glowing image of a red rose. Drums punched out an intoxicating beat for several measures before the guitar and bass struck in, wailing out over the crowd. Rosalind began to sing; her voice had an intangible quality Dorothy had never heard before. It poured through the microphone like an exotic tea, warm and spicy and smooth.

After the second chorus, Dorothy's chair slid back abruptly and a rough, stony hand clapped over her mouth. A man like the one who pursued her outside the palace on her first day in OZ ripped her from her chair, tightening his grip around her and lugging her across the room. No one at the table noticed; it was dark in the club and like her, they were all ensnared by Ros's performance onstage. Dorothy struggled against the strength of the stone arms that grasped her, trying to scream out to her friends. The crowd of Ozians in the room was so thick that the abduction was imperceptible to anyone. Dorothy thrashed in his arms, but her resistance was worthless against his strength.

"She's pretty good!" Aaron leaned over to where Dorothy was sitting, his eyes still glued to the stage. Not hearing a response, he turned. The spot at the table was empty, her chair toppled over onto the ground behind it. "Dorothy!?" He jumped up from his seat, scanning the packed room. Nick and Evan looked over in response to his panicked shout. Seeing Dorothy missing, they both stood.

"Calm down, Aaron. I'm sure she's around here somewhere…" Nick craned his glance across the room. There were too many people to pick her out.

"Nick!" Rosalind stopped singing and shouted into the microphone, pointing to the center of the room. "Someone has Dorothy!" The music continued to blare out into the atmosphere without her.

The three men thrust their chairs back, sprinting into the heart of the club. They pummeled through tightly packed clusters of dancing bodies in search of Dorothy.

"Dorothy!?" Aaron shouted again. He couldn't see any sign of her. Coursing through the sea of dancers, his heart began to race. "Dorothy!" A sharp crash resonated near one of the side walls.

"Aaron! Evan!" Nick's voice shouted over the crowds. Another crash sounded; Aaron heard Dorothy scream. He darted toward the source of the sound. A swarm of people had gathered to witness what they thought was a bar fight. Men from the crowd cheered, laughing and raising their drinks to the spectacle.

"Aaron!" Dorothy appeared, pulling him into the center of the mob where Nick struggled with the stone man. He took her face in his hands.

"Are you alright?" Shaking, he looked her over to ensure she wasn't hurt.

"I'm fine," Dorothy pointed to the fight, pushing Aaron toward it. He jumped into the brawl, struggling to pull the stone man off of Nick. Evan burst onto the scene, toppling over the kidnapper and scrapping at his limbs, attempting to pry him back by his arms. The man stumbled to a stand, grabbing Evan into a choke hold.

"I'll break his neck!" he shrieked. The surrounding crowd silenced, drawing back. The stone man began to edge his way along the aquarium wall toward the exit, Evan still choking in his grip. Nick grabbed a small table, hurling it at the stone man's head. It smashed into the glass, creating a huge, spider webbed crack. Immediately, water began to spew out, its pressure lengthening the fissure in the glass. Distracted by the blow, the stone man's grip loosened on Evan and he slipped out, grabbing hold of his arm and heaving him onto the ground.

Nick and Aaron flew on top of him, Aaron shoving his face into the floor and Nick winching his arms behind his back. The fracture in the glass continued to grow, crackling under the weight of the water behind it. At once, it ruptured, churning out a violent flow of water. The crowd screamed, running for the exits. The men remained on top of the stone man, bracing themselves against the torrent. Nick's hat and half of his painted face were washed away; they were all drenched. A group of royal soldiers burst into the room.

"You're all under arrest!" One of them sloshed through the water toward the men, sidestepping a massive flopping fish.

"No," Aaron stood, removing the false mustache and glasses. He pointed to the stone man. "_This _man is under arrest, for attempted kidnapping and for assault of the king."

The soldiers' eyes widened. They bowed, then waded through the water toward the stone man, detaining him. Outside, Ozian paparazzi and press swarmed the scene. Thousands of bright camera lights flashed like sparklers from inside the horde, blinding the group as they exited the building, soaked and exposed.

Chapter seventeen

"You've turned out exactly like your father, Everard." The Nome King clicked his tongue. "Such a disappointment." He circled his prisoner. "I trusted you, giving you decades beyond your normal lifespan, _on credit_, nonetheless, and this is how I'm repaid? Where are my new ornaments? Skleros, do you see any new ornaments among us?"

"None, Your Majesty."

"Yes…none." He shook his head. "Your end of the deal was simple, Everard. Take her onto the ship and wait for the storm that would bring you back; simply wait. Granted, you had to be touching her in order for her to be brought back to the mountain with you, but she was your damned fiancée! Certainly you could have managed that! She was right there! And because of your recklessness, she's now safely across the Deadly Desert, nestled in the bosom of her precious Ozians! Can you fathom how much energy it took to conjure a tidal wave in another world!? We spent months gathering the souls to power it! And it's wasted!" The king launched a granite chair across the room, smashing it into a pile of crumbles on the floor.

At spear point, Everard knelt on his knees on the cold limestone floors of the Nome King's throne room, his hands tied behind him. The king turned back.

"Any last words before I scrap your useless body into the fires of the mountain?"

Everard swallowed. "I was less than responsible on the ship, yes."

The king scoffed.

"But I found her again, didn't I? It isn't my fault if your useless Petra can't manage to capture a weak woman from inside a bar!"

"Don't you dare blame them for this, Everard! They've been migrating into both Ev and OZ, collecting souls for _you_ this entire time! You are responsible for this, and for the Petra in Scarecrow's prison! I only pray he doesn't confess, or we'll all be in a predicament; Scarecrow's army is powerful, and growing by the day." The King looked nervously at the floor, his thoughts racing.

"Let me go to OZ." Everard pleaded. "I'll get her myself; I won't lose her again. All I need is enough soul energy to disguise a few Petra and myself to get onto the palace grounds, and possibly to control the minds of one or two pawns. Also, perhaps, a little extra for a special present I have in mind for Scarecrow…"

"I've given you enough without recompense. Take him to the furnace!" The king barked at the Petra holding Everard captive on the floor.

"I can get you the King and Prince of Ev!" Everard shouted back desperately.

"Stop." The Nome King held out his hand to the Petra. "What did you say?"

"King Elias and his grandson Evan; they're in OZ as we speak, celebrating the reveal of that nauseating Aurian statue of Ozma. If you give me the opportunity to go to OZ, I can do it. The Witch, Chopper, Scarecrow, _and_ the Evians: yours. I just need one more chance, and a little more energy."

The king rubbed his craggy hands against his face, sighing. "I've extended far too much patience to you…"

"Please! I can do this!"

"Silence! Don't make me regret this, Everard, or your end will be far worse than the furnace." He snapped his fingers at the Petra who released Everard from his ties.

He stood, bowing low. "You have my word, Your Majesty."

"What if Dorothy prevents you? I've heard she's an Aura…"

"She has no idea what she is; that's part of the beauty of the plan."

"How long until you get there?"

"The desert takes time to cross without a flying carpet; at least a week."

"I want my ornaments, Everard. Don't come back without them."

"Believe me; nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see those wretched Ozians in your curio cabinet. In two weeks, OZ will be nothing but a pile of rubble, Dorothy Gale will be dead, you'll have your ornaments, and I'll be out of your sight forever."

"You'd better leave now; the latter is proving to be the most appealing of all in this bargain; I'm half tempted to take back my word and end you where you stand."

Everard bowed again and exited the throne room.

"Little bird," he called, walking through the giant underground caverns of the Nome Palace. "Here I come..."

Chapter eighteen

Aaron slapped a newspaper onto the breakfast table in front of Nick. The front page contained a large picture of himself, Nick, Evan, and Dorothy all sopping wet and looking like fools, having been caught off guard by the cameras. The title read: _ROYAL OUTING GONE AWRY: SCARECROW AND CHOPPER OUT FOR PLEASURE, NAB A PETRA. _

"What the hell!" Nick grabbed the paper, lifting it to his face.

"Are you really that surprised?"

"Yes, I look awful! Look at my hair! What is that?" Nick narrowed his eyes, examining his appearance in the photograph. Aaron snatched back the paper, firing a glare at him.

"We never should have gone out. Now every newspaper and magazine in the country will be plastered with photos and articles about OZ's party animal king! I've spent the last eight months trying to build a reputation these people can trust and one night has thrown it all away!"

"…You think they'll all have this photo?"

"This is your fault!"

"Hey, everything would have been fine if that scumbag hadn't tried to kidnap Dorothy! If anything, you came out looking like a hero; you should thank me!" Nick grabbed the paper back from Aaron, folding it to read the editorial.

"This is quite disappointing, Evan." Elias gave a stern look to Evan who sat across the table, his neck in a brace.

"It took the strength of three of us to wrestle that monster to the ground, Your Majesty." Nick started. "Without Evan we never would have been able to stop him."

Evan straightened in his chair. "Thanks, Nick."

"What do you say, Miss Public Relations? Any chance of smoothing this over?" Nick stretched his glance down the table at Glinda who sat back quietly, sipping her coffee and deep in thought; she didn't respond.

"Glinda?" Aaron called.

She looked up. "Sorry. I'm sure we can come up with something. It _was_ a heroic act; we could start with that." She quieted again, falling back into her thoughts.

"See? Everything'll be fine." Nick returned his glance to the article.

"Aaron…" Dorothy said. "I should have told you earlier, but some stone men, I guess the Petra, tried to apprehend me on my way to the palace the other day. I just barely got away from one of them; he was chasing me outside the palace grounds before I found the entrance in the willow trees."

"What?" Nick and Aaron simultaneously responded. 

"Everything's been so busy since I arrived…I was overwhelmed with not remembering, and then the ball…I guess it just left my mind…"

"I knew those Petra were trouble!" Aaron fumed. "Victor!"

The bald manservant appeared, bowing.

"Find Tik Tok and tell him to meet me in the library. I need to speak with him."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Aaron wiped his mouth with his napkin, though he hadn't touched his food. He rose, heading for the door. Glinda snapped out of her distraction, standing and following him out into the hall.

"Such a terrible picture…" Nick shook his head at the newspaper.

Dorothy leaned over to Nick, looking at the front page. At the bottom, an article title read: _String of Murders in OZ Continues without Leads... story on page 8. _

"May I see page eight, please?"

Nick pulled out a page from the center of the paper, handing it to Dorothy. She read the article:

_The bodies of three Ozians were discovered in the back alley of Charleston and Grand late Thursday night, identified as: Marcelle Green, 32, Ella Scottie, 73, and Leonard Vernon, 55. Matching the distinctive characteristic of previous killings, the victims were found with small body parts removed. The murders add to the toll of previous killings in the last eight months, totaling eighty nine. Royal Police Captain Alfred Miles has issued a formal statement recommending that all Ozians be on high alert, traveling in groups at all times and keeping indoors after dark. He requests any information that may lead to the arrest and conviction of the murderer(s) to be immediately reported to the headquarters of the Royal Army of OZ. Condolences may be sent to the families of the victims at Hanzi Funeral Home, 21 West Worley Road, Emerald City, OZ._

Dorothy's stomach felt sick. "Nick, what's going on with these murders?"

Nick had tossed the paper out into the center of the table in disgust and was now nursing a cup of black coffee. He shook his head, staring into the reflection of the ceiling in the dark fluid.

"There's no Aura in OZ now; we're not protected. It's usually not this bad though…Aaron has had men on the case for months now, but they haven't been able to uncover evidence against anyone. There's no consistency with it, either; it's seems like just random killing. At least, that's what I overheard Miles saying."

"Eighty nine people?" She looked at the article again, staring at the number. "That's horrible…" She shuddered, standing. "I need some fresh air."

"I could use a bit myself." Evan chimed in. "Granddad, would you like me to take you to your room first?"

"No, Evan, I'll be fine here for a while, thank you."

"Dorothy?" Evan stood, extending his arm to her. He looked so pitiable in the neck brace. Flattered by his willingness to risk his life for her the night before, she resolved to be sweeter to him. She took his arm and they walked together to the gardens outside.

In the library, Aaron sat in a chair, drumming his fingers on an end table and waiting for Tik Tok to arrive.

"Good, you're still alone," Glinda entered, closing the door behind her. "We need to talk." She had gone to her room to retrieve some documents before heading to the library.

"Do you think they have anything to do with Everard?"

"The Petra? I don't know…possibly. Why?"

"I've been thinking about the murders," she opened one of the books for Aaron, handing it to him.

"Farotic magic?"

"It's dark magic; a way to steal souls, preventing them from entering the afterlife and using their energy for spells. I don't know the specifics of how it's done, but essentially the victim's spirit is placed into his own body part; usually an ear or a finger; something small."

"That's disgusting." He recoiled, handing the book back to her.

"It's the same magic Everard used to overthrow Ev; do you remember?"

"It does sound familiar…" He tried to recollect the details from their trip to Ev ninety years ago.

"What if Everard is working with the Nome King to keep himself young, the way Evoldo did? It would make sense…Why else would Ozma warn us about him when he would have died of old age more than a decade ago? And why else would the Petra suddenly show up only_ after_ her death?"

"I've already considered the correlation between the Petra and the murders; the only problem is that I've never had any evidence to prove they're a threat."

"You do now; our new friend in prison will ensure that." Glinda intensified her gaze. "And something else…" She pulled out a sheet from a folder of papers.

"It's a prophecy of Tenebris Vir."

"The Aura?" He took the page, reading it:

_I dreamed a dream of Daughters of OZ,_

_The younger old and the older young;_

_Life separates what death unites._

_The older will be Born of the younger;_

_In death she receives her Light._

_What a man takes, a witch will give. _

_The Spirit returns; she breathes, alive._

_The Daughter of OZ will reign._

"I don't understand…"

"This prophecy is about an Aura that dies before she self actualizes, then comes back to life."

"I still don't follow."

"Pastoria had two daughters; Ozma, and her older sister Pearl." Glinda sat in an adjacent chair, leaning toward Aaron. "One of them was an Aura. What if the other is, too?"

"The other has been dead for over a hundred years, Glinda. I've read this before, anyway. 'Daughters of OZ' refers to female Auras, not actual sisters."

"They never found her body, Aaron."

"Pearl was older than Ozma by what, four years? That would make her almost a hundred and seven today, if she's even alive, which is next to impossible."

"No, look," Glinda pointed to the prophecy. "The older will be younger, and the younger older. Pearl would be younger than Ozma. Maybe she's under a spell as well, like the one Mombi put on Ozma to make her a boy, only this one would keep her young…"

Aaron rubbed at his forehead. "What are you getting at with all of this?"

"If Pearl is alive, and if she's an Aura like Ozma, maybe the prophecy is about them. They would be Daughters of OZ, both in the Aurian sense and by being sisters and heirs to the throne."

"Or maybe this is about other people entirely; it was written over two thousand years ago. That's quite a long shot, Glinda. It's been over a century since Pearl went missing; even if she was alive, don't you think she would have been discovered by now?"

Glinda's expression sunk. "Maybe. I realize it's a bit of a stretch."

He scoffed. "A bit?"

Ignoring him, she continued. "But if we could find her…if she's still alive…" she sighed. "We thought Ozma was dead too, and we found her, didn't we?" She looked down at the prophecy, crinkling the edges of the paper in her fingers. "I'm only asking you to consider it. We both know something's happening in OZ…the Petra coming, the murders, Dorothy returning and being pursued by them…this is exactly what Ozma warned us about. What if Everard _is_ alive and _is_ coming for her? We have to have some sort of plan…we need an Aura…"

"We have the army to protect us."

She shook her head. "You don't get it, do you? He's going to try to kill Dorothy, Aaron! And if he does it using _this_ magic," she struck her finger onto the book describing Everard's method. "That army you've been building will be worthless in protecting her, or any of the rest of OZ. You were there in Ev; you saw what happened. Their militia was as large as our own, and he turned it against them! With _this_!" She lifted the book.

Aaron's face reddened. "Then use your own magic! Do something to help us!"

Glinda's eyes softened. "That's exactly what I've been thinking about…I have one other suggestion, and it's slightly more credible. If the prophecy isn't about true sisters, but is indeed only about two female Auras…" She ran a pen along the manuscript with the prophecy and handed it to him. He read the circled part aloud.

"'What a man takes, a witch will give.'…I don't understand…"

"Do you believe Dorothy could be an Aura?"

He paused. "I believe she's something special to OZ; she's always had a strange kind of power here. But a true, self actualized Aura? No."

"She displays all of the signs of an Aura…she's just been through so much…she doesn't seem to remember who she is anymore." Glinda turned clairvoyantly to the window; seconds later, Dorothy and Evan passed, walking through the garden together outside. She returned her glance to Aaron.

"There's clearly something between her world and ours that has staggered time for her. Why else would she be so young? What if she was older than Ozma at some point? It would make sense. She could be the 'older' and Ozma the 'younger". The prophecy would still work if we replaced Pearl with Dorothy from my original hypothesis…what if Dorothy could self actualize? Or if she couldn't…what if Ozma could help her on the other side?"

"What?"

She pointed to the manuscript. "The older will be Born of the younger. In death she receives her Light.".

"There's only one hole in that."

"What's that?"

"Dorothy would have to die. That's not happening; I won't let it."

"She wouldn't have to permanently die…if she were able to self actualize…if Ozma could help her to do it like the prophecy says…I could bring her back." She pointed again to the part of the prophecy she'd circled, reading it aloud.

"'What a man takes, a witch will give'."

"There are too many 'if's in that sentence for my liking; it's not worth the risk. And even if she were an Aura, you can't bring people back from the dead; it's dark magic."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you honestly preaching to me about dark magic when you're sitting there in a body of flesh?"

"That was different."

She rolled her eyes. "Right. Besides, it's not dark magic if it's self sacrificial. A witch has the power to give up her life for something greater than herself; the only thing greater than a witch is an Aura."

Aaron's heart faltered. "Are you talking about suicide?"

"Martyrdom."

He thrust the documents back at her. "I don't want to hear anymore about this. Just put it out of your mind right now."

"And let Everard come and destroy OZ? Is that what you'd prefer?"

"Do you even realize what you're saying? You want me to sit back and allow Dorothy to be _murdered_ in the hopes she _may_ be an Aura, so that Ozma can _maybe_ help her self actualize in the spirit world, and so you can _kill yourself_ in the _hopes_ it will bring her back to life? This is crazy! I'm not taking that risk! I won't allow you to throw both your lives away on a gamble, Glinda!"

"And what if we don't take that gamble? What's the alternative, Aaron? Everard will destroy us all anyway, and you know it!"

"Stop, just stop for a minute…" He hunched over in his chair, pressing his hands across his gold hair. "You've run way too far with this prophecy. I know we're desperate for help, but let's be logical about this. If Dorothy is an Aura, I'm sure we can get her to self actualize on our own, _without _the need for suicide."

"Martyrdom."

"Whatever. Just let me deal with her, will you? I have an idea of what might help…"

"That's perfectly fine with me. But if she doesn't self actualize, I _will_ do anything I can to ensure that she comes back after Ozma helps her on the other side."

"If she is in fact an Aura, which you have no way of knowing."

"I'm also still planning to find Pearl."

Aaron opened his mouth, then sighed and closed it again. There was no point in arguing about something that may or may not come to pass. The best thing to do would be to try to help Dorothy self actualize on her own and hope for the best.

"Fine; whatever eases your mind. Just please, no more talk of this prophecy for now."

Glinda smiled, bowing. "Thank you, Your Majesty." A knock at the door ensued.

"Come in!" Aaron called. Tik Tok thumped into the library.

"You sum-moned me, Your Ma-jes-ty?"

"Yes," Aaron stood, ushering the copper man inside.

"Glin-da." Tik Tok nodded to the witch.

"Hi Tik Tok."

"Tik Tok, there's a Petra being held in the prison; he attempted to kidnap Dorothy last night and I have a feeling he's also involved in the murders. You have my permission to use any means necessary to get him to talk. I want to know for whom he works, with whom he works, what they're attempting to accomplish, everything. Understand?"

"Yes, Your Ma-jes-ty."

"Thank you. Now, if you'll both excuse me," he headed for the door, looking back at Glinda. "I have an Aura to make."

In the palace gardens, Evan and Dorothy walked with linked arms, admiring the topiaries and flowers.

"OZ is such a beautiful place," Evan said. "It's so different from Ev; so much more colorful. I'm really glad to have had the chance to come."

Dorothy laughed. "Even though it meant a bar fight and a strained neck?"

"Especially!" he ejected, laughing. "Last night was the most fun I've had in ages!"

"You're a brave man, Evan."

They weaved around a large elephant shaped shrub. "I haven't said thank you yet; they never would have been able to stop that Petra had you not been there."

"You mean they never would have been able to stop him had I not been there to stall him by being his rag doll." He smiled, embarrassed.

"You reacted well under pressure." she reassured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you."

"It was nothing."

They walked another few feet along the garden path. "Wow, would you look at that!" Evan pointed to a ten foot tall orchid with giant blooms. "We don't have anything like that in Ev; amazing!"

"You should see one of the plants in the conservatory; when you touch the petals, they turn into butterflies."

"Incredible!"

"I know. Aaron bred it; _he's_ incredible."

"Oh."

They continued their stroll in silence for a few moments before Evan spoke. "You're quite fond of him, aren't you?"

"I love him." she responded automatically. Realizing how her words sounded, she quickly added "I love all of my friends here."

"You know," he spoke, kicking at the grass as they walked. "I've never had to work so hard at getting a woman's attention before. If you can believe it, I'm actually considered a bit of a catch back at home."

Glad to have an opening at sorting out the awkwardness between them, Dorothy responded. "You're a charming and handsome man, and undeniably courageous …it's no surprise." She added her caveat, praying it wouldn't offend. "I'm sure one day you'll make an Evian woman very happy."

Defeated, he eked out a smile. "And you an Ozian man." He grazed the top of a hedge plant, then looked up and nodded at something in the distance. "Here he comes now."

Horse hooves thundered down the path; it was Aaron. He guided a second, unmounted steed along with him. She'd never seen his human form on a horse before; he looked the part. He slowed to a stop in front of Evan and Dorothy; the unmounted horse whinnied and trotted in place. They were striking beasts; black thoroughbreds, and almost entirely identical.

"Evan." Aaron nodded. Evan returned his gesture. "I hope you don't mind; I'm going to steal Dorothy from you."

Evan looked up at his competition. "I know."

"Do you know how to ride one of these?" Aaron looked to Dorothy, handing her the reigns of the spare horse.

"You forget you're talking to a country girl?" She mounted the steed with ease. "I think the truly relevant question here is: do you think _you_ can keep up?"

Captivated, Aaron's mouth rose into a half smile. "You forget where we first met?"

He turned his horse and broke into a canter toward the outer reaches of the palace grounds. Dorothy's expression lifted; she'd forgotten he'd spent a large part of his life on a farm, like her. His riding form was perfect. She looked after him, fully enamored; he was more attractive in that moment than at any time she could remember since she'd arrived. Shaking herself from distraction, she kicked her horse, flying into a full gallop and surpassing him within seconds. Together, they rode westward outside the palace grounds and into the country.

"Where are we going!?" she shouted over the rumble of hoof beats.

"It's a surprise!" he yelled back.

The pair galloped through the countryside, passing through long fields of poppies and small rural areas peppered with thatch roofed cottages. Riding deeper into the west lands, they passed through sporadic groves of trees which eventually grew closer and closer together, forming the outskirts of the Western Forest. By then, dark, rolling clouds had formed overhead. A soft thundering boomed in the distance, giving warning of the storm to come. Aaron's horse leapt over a fallen tree. He slowed the beast, looking up at the threatening sky ahead.

"We'd better find some shelter. I know a place; come on." He galloped onward, Dorothy following close behind.

They entered a clearing just as cool speckles of rain began to dot the forest grounds. An abandoned castle weighed heavily into the earth, its exterior in severe disrepair. They rode the horses onto the covered area outside the entrance, tying the reigns to a tree branch that had grown inward. Dorothy cast an apprehensive gaze at the building.

"Is this safe?"

Deafening thunder bellowed overhead.

"It's safer than staying out here." He took her hand, leading her to a broken window near the front doors. Searching for an object to clear the shards of glass that remained at the bottom of the pane, he knelt, picking up a fallen board. He banged at the window casing, smashing out the jagged pieces of glass inside. After climbing through, he took off his jacket and laid it across the threshold.

"I'll pull you through..." he called out the window, reaching his arms outward. He looked back and forth along the veranda; she'd vanished. His heart skipped. "Dorothy?"

"Yes?"

He jerked in the direction of the voice. She stood with her arms folded, one eyebrow raised in self satisfaction. The front door stood wide open behind her.

"Woops." He grimaced, turning to retrieve his jacket. She laughed.

"This place is unbelievable." Dorothy turned in a circle, gazing up at crumbling architecture covered in vines. "Whose is it?"

"It's no one's, now." Aaron shook his jacket and placed it over her shoulders; the wind had picked up outside and flew in through shattered windows and broken down walls, cooling the space. Taking her hand, he led her through an archway into a giant hall. The roots of a Sycamore tree had broken the stone floors, and part of its branches had grown in through a missing part of the wall, creating a canopy of leaves high above the room. A group of birds flapped in a panic overhead in response to their entrance. Distracted by the commotion, Dorothy tripped over a fallen beam, colliding into Aaron. He grabbed at her with strong arms, preventing her collapse. Their eyes met.

"Careful." he smiled. "Here, sit down." He pulled her to a spot on the floor in front of a massive fire pit.

Aaron clomped back and forth in the giant hall, breaking down rotting chairs and furniture for firewood. As he worked, Dorothy pulled his jacket tighter around her against the chill. The warmth of cedar wood wafted out of the leather, laced with notes of musk and amber. She closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar scent from the ball last night. Before long, tall golden flames stretched out from the base of the fire pit, sparking and wafting against the breeze in the room. Aaron sat close to her, leaning his arms in toward the blaze and breathing out contentedly.

"That's better…what?"

She'd been staring. "I'm sorry…I'm just not used to seeing you enjoy a fire."

He smirked, leaning in closer to the warmth and rubbing his palms together.

"It was a bit of a strange sensation the first time; probably like how a person might feel jumping off a cliff, having just sprouted wings the day before." He paused for a moment. "Or maybe like entering a witch's castle almost a century after she tried to kill you…intimidating, yet you know that now it's safe."

Dorothy gazed around the room again. "A witch lived here?"

He nodded. "An incredibly evil and dangerous witch…probably the biggest threat to the safety of OZ in its entire history."

"But she's dead now?"

He nodded again.

"How?"

He raised his eyebrows, lifting a hand from the warmth of the fire and pointing to her.

"Huh?"

"You did it."

"No I…" At that moment the fire popped loudly, and a memory activated in her mind. In that same fire pit, as a child, she boiled water. She was cleaning something. She was a slave. Dorothy's eyes narrowed as she stared into the flames. The ghost of a haggard, ugly woman floated through the doorway, barking out orders at her memory's self. There was a struggle. She remembered throwing the water pot at the witch and she screamed, liquefying into a puddle on the floor. Nick's voice came back to her: _You single handedly destroyed the only remaining threat of danger in OZ, the witch of the West. You melted her and walked right out of her castle like it was nothing! _Her stomach flipped; she did kill her.

"I do remember; how could I have forgotten that? It was horrible…she'd captured all of us, somehow…Nick was completely trashed on a cliff, you were strung up in pieces in a tree…and she took my pet!"

Aaron laughed. "You're the only person I've ever known to have a lion for a pet, but yes." Trying not to become overbearing and hamper his efforts as before, he pressed her gently. "And then what?"

"She had me here, as her slave…and there was an accident." She looked up at him from the fire. "She melted."

"That was no accident, Dorothy."

"I didn't know the water was going to kill her. She came at me; it was only a reaction."

"Are you sure about that?"

Thunder rattled overhead.

"I think I'm capable of accurately remembering an event from my own life."

"You didn't remember it at all thirty seconds ago."

Taking offense, she turned her gaze back to the fire. "I remember it as it happened."

"I'm sure you do." he backpedaled, trying to plow a smoother road with a new choice of words. "You're an intelligent person. Could it be possible that you do in fact remember the event, only maybe-"

"Maybe what?"

He softened his voice. "Maybe your perception of it is distorted. You're too humble, Dorothy; this entire country reveres you as an Aura for what you did that day."

"I'm _not_ an Aura, and I'm _not_ a murderer."

"No one thinks you're a murderer. You're a hero…You're my hero."

"…What are you talking about?"

He folded his legs underneath himself, turning toward her and taking her hands.

"I'd still be sitting in that corn field today if it weren't for you. My head would still be packed with straw where my brain is today. All of the people I love; Ozma, Nick, Glinda…they wouldn't even know my name if I hadn't met you. I'd still be nothing." He stared into her eyes. "You saved me that day…you came back for me after you killed-after the witch died." He repeated "You came back for me, and for Nick."

"Of course I did; you were my friends."

"Am I still your friend?"

"That's a stupid question."

"Answer it."

"Yes. You're very much still my friend, Aaron."

"And you're mine. I know it isn't easy, but would you please consider what I, as your friend, am telling you? Will you accept the _possibility_ that you _may_ be more than what you think?" His eyes searched hers.

Her first reaction was to stubbornly protest, but the emerald pools gripped her willpower too tightly for it to act, pulling it under their surface and snuffing out its flame. She exhaled.

"I don't believe I'm anything more than Dorothy Gale from Kansas, however, I don't intend to spend time arguing with you if my agreeing with your asinine ideas would pacify you. So, I agree that there is an extremely slight possibility that perhaps my recollection of certain events may be influenced by my own perceptions. Does that count?"

He smiled. "I'll take it. And I have something for you in return; it's in the jacket pocket." He pointed to his jacket which was still wrapped snugly around her. She felt at the pocket; there was a small box inside. She pulled it out, handing it to him. He shook his head, pressing it back lightly.

"It's yours."

Taken aback by the gesture, she smiled, pulling at the top of the box.

"What is it?"

She sat the lid on the floor and pulled back a fold of tissue paper. It was an emerald necklace. A filigree dragonfly covered the body of the stone, its wings spreading protectively over its width. It glimmered against the flickering light of the fire. She stared at it, motionless.

"It was Ozma's." Aaron's voice interrupted her paralysis. He took it from the box and fastened it around her neck. "It was her Aurian symbol."

She touched the pendant; the stone was large and heavy, like the liability she instantly felt upon hearing its sentimental value.

"You can't give this to me." She reached for the clasp. Reaching behind her neck, he took back her hands.

"Is that how you accept gifts back in Kansas?" he laughed. "Besides, I'm the king; I can do as I please. Ozma would want you to have it."

She exhaled, looking down at the stone again and lifting it in her fingers.

"It's so beautiful."

"The dragonfly is an important symbol; it has a lot of meaning."

She looked at him expectantly; the stone drew out the deep green in her eyes. He continued.

"It represents the ability to look beyond our self created illusions, removing doubts about our identities and fulfilling what we were meant to be."

She smiled wryly. "This was our destination from the very beginning, wasn't it?"

He smirked. "You caught me."

"I don't like being tricked into Aurian interventions, Scarecrow." she retorted playfully. "But I'm flattered you trust me with this; I promise I'll take care of it."

"I know you will."

She closed her eyes, pressing her hand over the necklace. "Something she touched, touching me. It'll be like having a part of her with me all the time." A gust of wind blew through the room, casting several strands of hair in front of her face.

"It suits you." He reached to brush her hair behind her ear, lightly grazing her chin with his thumb as he pulled back.

"Thank you, Aaron." she breathed.

He swallowed. "You're welcome."

They leaned in slightly, both of them ensnared by the gaze of the other; Aaron felt as though he might catapult out of his skin. He cleared his throat, looking up at the sky through a hole in the ceiling.

"It looks like the storm has passed; we should get back."

"Right."

He stood, helping her to rise from the floor. "I promise, no more surprise destinations; the next place we go will be entirely of your choosing."

"That's a lot of responsibility for a girl who doesn't know the area…or, doesn't remember it…"

"Well, what do you like?"

"Hmm…I like a place where I might go and enjoy some entertainment without getting kidnapped and then pummeled by a manta ray. Anything like that in OZ?"

He laughed. "I do owe you for that." He thought for a moment before his expression lit up. "Do you like the opera? Manon Lescaut is playing tonight; I haven't been to a performance in a few years! It might be fun."

"The opera!?" She glowed. "I love it! I mean, I think I do; I've never actually been." She remembered listening to Strauss and Gershwin records while scrubbing the kitchen floors back home, dreaming of what it might be like to don an opera dress and see the spectacle in person. She'd never known a man who would tolerate an opera, let alone suggest attendance to one. Delighted, she imagined what the night held for her.

Before she could even visualize her ticket, an apparition of flames rose around her, heating her skin and choking her with smoke. Screams and crashes reverberated off of phantom walls around her. She grabbed Aaron's arm, shaking her head and blinking.

"What's wrong?" He took her by the arms. The vision faded.

"It's nothing…" She looked at him; he'd clearly not experienced the mirage. "I think the fire is starting to play tricks on my eyes." She blinked again.

"Let's go." He walked to the corner of the room where the rain had poured in through the hole in the ceiling, grabbing a rusty bucket off of the floor.

"I hear you're pretty good with water around here; would you like the honors?"

Glowering playfully, she grabbed the heavy pail, lifted it behind her, and heaved the rainwater onto the fire, blotting it out entirely.

Chapter nineteen

"What's wrong?" Dorothy looked down at her opera dress, examining it for blemishes. She wore a dark chartreuse gown accented with a train of deep sapphire taffeta. Finding it without flaw, she looked up again. "Is it too much? I wasn't sure what to wear. Glinda picked it for me…"

"No," Aaron interrupted. "No, it's just…you just look so beautiful." She wore Ozma's necklace and her hair was pinned up loosely; a sapphire comb was tucked into her dark hair.

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks. You look pretty dashing in that suit." she smiled, leaning in and fastening a loose button on his jacket. "Are we ready then?"

"Just have to meet our dates outside and we can go." He offered her his arm and they walked toward the front hall of the palace.

"Are Nick and Ros coming?"

He chuckled. "No; Nick wouldn't be caught dead at the opera. The one time I talked him into going he was nearly kicked out for snoring too loudly during the overture to the second act."

"That does sound like Nick." she laughed. As they approached the front entrance, two valets stretched their arms to open the doors. Seven Ozian soldiers stood next to three royal cars outside, saluting as the couple exited the palace. She looked up at him as they descended the steps to the car.

"Soldiers?"

"Protection."

One of the men opened the door for Dorothy, bowing. Aaron saw her seated, then rounded the back of the vehicle, entering the other side. A soldier entered the front passenger seat of their vehicle; the remaining six piled into the cars in front and back of their own.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Absolutely; you said you wanted a kidnapping and manta ray free evening. I'm fairly sure we can avoid the latter, but I also intend to ensure the former is prevented." he winked. "Just forget them and enjoy yourself. You won't even know they're there." The driver started the engine and they slid out through the palace grounds into the city.

They arrived at the opera house just as the suns began to descend toward the horizon; periwinkle, peach and gold washed over the sky. As they exited the car, the Ozians entering the theater stopped and bowed, waiting for their king to enter before them.

"It's beautiful." she whispered as they entered the theater. Towering gold archways and staircases glittered against the light of chandeliers above.

"Your Majesty." A fish headed gentleman bent before them. Dorothy recognized the creature as the same she'd offended on the day she arrived in OZ; the one who had asked for the time.

"What an honor it is to have you this evening! We weren't expecting you!"

"It's a bit of an impromptu visit; is my balcony still available?"

"Certainly, Your Highness; we keep it specially reserved for you only!" The fish man narrowed his eyes at Dorothy, trying to place her. He snapped his fingers.

"Reginald!"

A fox wearing a green and gold scarf approached, bowing to Aaron.

"Please take His Majesty and company to balcony C."

"If you would follow me, Your Majesty." The fox approached a nearby staircase and bounded each step with ease, his tail fluttering behind him.

The balcony was positioned at stage left with an ideal view of the arena. The orchestra below tuned its instruments; sweet notes from violins and piano streamed out into the gallery.

"Will you require anything, Your Highness?" Reginald asked as they were seated.

"Dorothy?" Aaron turned to her.

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

"It seems that will be all, then. Thank you."

The fox bowed again, backing out of the balcony as the lights lowered. Heavy felt curtains pulled back along the stage, revealing the first scene of the performance.

Aaron rubbed at the mahogany wood arm of his chair; the last time he'd been there he was made of straw and Ozma was alive. She was old at the time, but still functioning well. She'd been in the chair next to him where Dorothy now sat. He turned to her. She was leaning forward, totally engrossed by the spectacle. Jasmine and white peony lingered off of her skin, pulling him in like a fly to a web.

"What do you think?" he whispered.

"It's incredible…I wish I knew what they were saying."

He leaned in, focusing on the stage. "This man is Des Grieux; he's a confirmed bachelor." The singers' voice reverberated out into the crowd. "But the woman exiting the carriage is Manon Lescout." He looked over at Dorothy. "He's been ensnared by her beauty, and has fallen in love with her. He's talking about his feelings for her…" Her gaze remained fixed on the stage. He looked to the singer portraying Des Grieux, translating the words:

"'I have never seen a woman such as this one…" he whispered as the man sang. His heart stumbled in his chest as the next words were sung. "'To tell her 'I love you', my soul awakens to a new life. 'Manon Lescaut is my name.' How these fragrant words wander around in my mind, and come to caress my innermost fibers. Oh, sweet thoughts, ah, do not cease...'"

She turned to him, smiling tenderly and placing her hand over his. Sighing, she relaxed her shoulders and returned her gaze to the singer, spellbound by the love affair on stage. Her touch was smooth and inviting, melding into him like warm honey on a piece of bread. The performance went on.

_To tell you I love you_, his thoughts ran elatedly through his mind for the next several minutes, meditating on the lyrics. His body acted without permission, turning his hand to hold hers and reaching the other to envelop them. She pulled her gaze from the stage, looking down at their intertwined hands. She raised her eyes to his.

"Dorothy," he swallowed. Scarcely breathing, he touched her face. Silky olive spheres bore into him.

"Yes?" her mouth formed the word, though no sound came out. She closed her eyes. He leaned into her, grazing his lips against hers. The earth shook beneath them; they pressed closer together. They hadn't noticed the music stopping; screams from the crowd below pelted against the thick stratum of infatuation surrounding them. Their seats wobbled violently underneath them, ripping apart their embrace.

"What's happening!?" Dorothy grasped the arms of her seat. A plaque on the wall of the balcony fell to the ground, shattering against the floor.

"An earthquake!" He stood, pulling her out of her chair. A giant groan bellowed from the top of the room; dozens of pieces of cut crystal jumped off of the massive chandelier above the audience. They froze, watching as it lurched out of the ceiling, hanging tenuously by a cord of wire before hurtling to the ground and bursting into flame on the seats below. The floorboards beneath them splintered, sending the protruding half of the balcony plummeting to the ground and tearing Dorothy out of his arms. "Dorothy!"

She screamed, gripping at shredded strips of wood along the edge of the floor. The skirt of her opera gown floated full against the rising heat from the fire below. He dropped to the ground, grabbing at her wrists and hauling her up from the edge. Her arms were scratched and bloody, her dress torn. He stood, pulling her up with him and dragging her back onto the floor near the door to the balcony.

Shaking, he examined her. "Are you alright?" Eyes wide, she nodded. He pulled her close, kissing her head. "Thank God…we need to get out of here, now!"

The doors to the balcony crashed open and three of the soldiers burst in. Aaron stood, taking Dorothy's hands and pulling her to stand. She cried out in agony; her leg gave way, sending her falling back onto the floor. He lifted the bottom of her dress, revealing a broken ankle. She winced in pain as he touched it.

One of the soldiers bent to pick her up. "Your Majesty, we need to leave the theater immediately; it's bound to collapse!"

He pushed the soldier back. "Go and get the car; her ankle's broken! And tell the rest of them not to leave until they've ensured everyone has gotten out!" The soldiers saluted and sprang from the balcony, dispersing out into various directions in the hall outside. Aaron pulled off his jacket and ripped at the buttons of his shirt, pulling out a pendant and pressing its center. It flashed a bright green light. He took her face in his hands.

"Everything's going to be fine. Hold onto me." He scooped her off of the floor, pulling her close to his chest. A black haze wafted through the outside hall. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, pressing it to her face. Nearly blinded from the smoke, he descended the stairs, his knees shaking with every step. The front doors were open; crowds of charred and battered Ozians scrambled to get through. A woman screamed from outside, fighting against the moving current of bodies.

"My daughter! My daughter!" In a state of panic, the horde continued to crush past her, ignoring her plea. Dorothy narrowed her eyes through the smog and bunches of screaming people rushing through the foyer.

"Aaron!" She pointed to a young girl lying motionless on the floor. Golden crumbles rained down onto her back from the archway overhead. He looked up; a giant crown beam in the center of the arch was disintegrating in the flames; its left end pitched outward, barely catching onto the haunch of the arch. He looked down again at the girl who lay unconscious below.

"Oh no…"

He sat Dorothy on the bottom step and propelled through the crowd toward the child. The corner of the arch continued to dissolve under the pressure of heat and weight as he drew near. Before he could reach her, the beam growled through the fire, falling out of its place in the arch. He winced, waiting for the crash. Hearing nothing, he looked again. The beam floated in place with nothing to support it; a weak green blush radiated around it. He turned to Dorothy; the stone in Ozma's necklace was glowing around her neck; her stare was fixed on the girl.

"Aaron!" she screamed out, pointing again to her. His mouth hung open. Trembling, he sprinted under the beam, grabbing the child and throwing her over his shoulder as he ran back toward the staircase. The beam plunged to the floor, spewing out a cloud of glowing red splinters and ash behind him. Dorothy stood, leaning her weight against the beam of the staircase. He grabbed at her waist, pulling her toward the doors.

She coughed, pushing him away. "Take her out first."

"No." He pulled her close, supporting her as she limped with him toward the door. As they exited the building, the woman grabbed at the girl who was still hanging over Aaron's shoulder.

"Thank you! My baby!" Tears streaked her ashen countenance. She looked into the face of her child's savior. Her eyes widening, she cried out, "Your Majesty!" A swarm of Ozian soldiers surrounded the theater, summoned by Aaron's pendant. One of them ascended the steps to the theater.

"Miss Gale, please, come and get into the car…"

"This child needs medical attention; take her to the nearest hospital right away. Just bring another car; we'll wait." The soldier looked at the woman holding the girl.

"Please, madam, this way."

"Thank you so much…" The woman nodded to Aaron, then followed the soldier to the car.

"Your Majesty," Captain Miles appeared, bowing. He craned his glance upward, shielding his eyes from the smoldering building. "We received your alert."

"I don't know how many are left inside. It's too dangerous at this point; the structure of the building is already collapsing. I can't send you in. Just help those who've made it out."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Alfred bowed, then turned to the soldiers behind him, organizing them to assist.

Aaron carried Dorothy to the base of the steps and traveled a short length of the sidewalk, setting her down where the air was clearer. The inhalation of smoke blasted a sharp burn through his lungs. He pushed back her disheveled hair. "Does anything else hurt?" He began bending her arms and neck, inspecting her for other damage.

"No, I'm alright." She coughed into her arm. By then the necklace had returned to its normal luster. "You saved that child's life." She rubbed his forehead with her thumb, wiping away a black smudge of ash and sweat.

"Dorothy," he started, beginning to tell her what had happened inside with the falling beam. Darkness rapidly shrouded the sky, casting a shadow over the grounds of the theater. Dorothy craned her glance upward, her eyes broadening. He looked up; a solid, massive blanket of black flapping wings coursed through the sky, looking for its target.

"Aaron!"

The birds swirled in a giant circle overhead before descending as one, plummeting toward them. He pulled her in, wrapping his arms over her and tucking his head down. Thousands of shrieking black crows pummeled against them, furiously pecking and flapping their wings. Dorothy's scream muffled under his protective embrace, and immediately the same glow from before shined out from the stone, lighting up the tight interior of their hold.

The birds stopped. He continued to shield her for several moments, eyes still wrung shut. He turned his head; the golden glow from the setting suns had returned. He loosened his hold on her, pulling back. Thousands of crows lay dead in heaps around them.

"What's going on!?" Her eyes glossed over. He lifted the emerald pendant in his hand, examining it. Again, its glow had subsided.

"I don't know."

A royal car pulled alongside the road. He stood, pulling her off the ground and lifting her into the vehicle, stepping around crow corpses as he went. In the back seat, he inched closer, wrapping his arms around her. She buried her head into his shoulder. He kissed her tangled, smoky hair.

"We're okay. Everything's okay."

The rest of the drive was spent in silence. The suns concluded their descent below the earth, bathing the sky in total blackness. Aaron's mind raced. Was he merely paranoid, or were the crows some sort of personal attack? It couldn't have been a coincidence; the birds seemed as though they had been specifically trained to assail them…either that or perhaps they were under some kind of hex. If it were a personal attack, crows were a clever choice. His mind reverted back to the years he'd spent under the hot sun in the corn fields, crows contemptuously swooping down and pecking at him as he worked. Could it possibly be Everard? If he had the power to create such an attack, why not show up himself? And did he have anything to do with the earthquake that started the fire?

Dorothy flinched with every bump in the road; her ankle had swollen significantly. He gently rubbed at her arm in an attempt to comfort her. Was it Ozma that saved the girl, and then them from the crows? He didn't think it was possible for an Aura to act from beyond the grave; if so, she never would have had to warn them to protect Dorothy; she would do it herself. Up until then his efforts at getting Dorothy to self actualize were largely experimental; he figured it wouldn't hurt anything to see if he could help along what might possibly be true. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't find a way to explain what had happened earlier; perhaps she really was a true Aura. He thought again of Everard; if he were the source of the episode at the theater, it meant he was in OZ, and if not, he must at least have people in OZ working for him, surely the Petra. Glinda was right: no army could protect them from the magic to which she'd introduced him earlier. They would need an Aura, and fast.

The car slowed at the back entrance of the palace. A small team of medics waited outside with a stretcher, Glinda and Nick standing nearby. Nick raced forward, opening the car door before the servant had a chance. He lifted Dorothy out of the back seat, tilting her in his arms to study her ankle.

"That's quite a lump." He hugged her close before resting her onto the stretcher, pressing his tin hand onto the top of her head and breathing a sigh. "You sure gave us a scare. As soon as we received Aaron's alert Glinda pulled out that mirror of hers and caught a vision of the accident…" He turned to Glinda. "You were right; it's her ankle."

"Of course I was right." Glinda bent to embrace Dorothy, then grazed her ankle with her fingers. "Thank God you're alive." She addressed one of the medics. "It's broken. Get her inside, quickly."

The medics lifted the stretcher, pulling it toward the interior of the palace. By then Aaron had exited the vehicle and was walking alongside the stretcher with Nick and Glinda, holding Dorothy's hand.

"You were alerted?" Dorothy's body raised and lowered on the stretcher as the medics carried her into the palace.

Nick pulled out a pendant matching Aaron's. "Another security protocol imposed by His Majesty; this one I'm actually grateful for..." The friends followed Dorothy to the infirmary. A medic with a face comprised of red glass had been examining her ankle on the journey.

"It seems like it may only be a small fracture; she'll need an x-ray."

"Do what you need to do." Aaron squeezed her hand before letting go as they pulled her into the infirmary. "I'll be right in…"

The door slammed shut, leaving the trio of Ozians in the outside hall.

"What happened?" Glinda pulled Aaron aside, whispering. "Was it him? Do you think it was him?"

Aaron looked back at the infirmary doors. "I don't know. The earthquake could have been coincidence…but something else happened afterward."

"I'm guessing it involved birds?" Nick plucked a clump of black feathers out from under Aaron's shirt collar. "Either that or you've got a serious molting problem."

"Thousands of crows; they came out of nowhere and attacked us-only us."

Glinda took the feathers from Nick's hand and breathed in their odor. Walking to a nearby table, she held one of them over a candle. The feathers curled and withered in the heat, giving off purple smoke. She turned to Nick and Aaron, her heart dropping.

"It's Farotic magic. No other enchantment would produce this color."

"What?" Nick squinted.

Aaron approached the table. He picked up another feather from the bunch she'd laid on the table, crouching and holding it over the flame. A deep plumb haze wafted above the burning plume.

"So it was him..."

"It has to be." Glinda said.

"Who's 'him' and what's 'Farotic magic'?" Nick stood behind Glinda with his arms folded, peering at the smoke. Aaron and Glinda remained silent, staring at one another.

"Hello?" Nick waved his hand between them.

"Everard..." Aaron started. "Farotic magic is a way to steal souls for energy…it's what he's using to try to kill Dorothy, and possibly destroy OZ."

Nick sneered. "He can't."

"Do you remember what he did in Ev? He used it then, too."

"Yeah, but we have the army, right? That's what you've been spending the last eight months driving everyone mad for, right? So we'd be safe…"

Aaron leaned against the wall, rubbing his temples. "I don't know Nick; I don't think it's going to be much use. They could probably hold him off for a while, but in the end…the only thing that can save us is an Aura. I thought we'd be fighting a man and maybe a few thousand of his minions. I didn't remember the magic."

Nick's face went blank. His mind flashed to an image of a shattered Ev from ninety years ago.

"What's going to happen to OZ?"

Again, they didn't respond. He scanned their faces, his heart racing.

"I think I'm going to be sick…"

The glass faced medic emerged from the infirmary and approached the group, bowing. "It's a stable fracture; she won't need surgery. We've put a brace on it. She needs to rest; I'll have someone take her to her room now."

"That won't be necessary." Aaron walked past the medic, pushing open the door and emerging seconds later with Dorothy in his arms.

"Hey, kid." Nick tried to hide the trepidation in his voice. "How you feeling?"

"Ridiculous. Aaron, put me down. They have crutches for me; I can walk myself."

"Let's go." Aaron referenced Nick and Glinda, beginning his trek down the hall.

"I'm starting to think you have a thing for not letting me walk anywhere…" Dorothy spouted. He remained quiet, still walking. "My room is in the east wing! You're going to carry me that far? Put me down!" He continued to hold her, walking with ease through the corridor toward the east end of the palace.

"You shouldn't be trying to walk this great of a length on crutches; it'll only aggravate the fracture."

She stopped protesting. His arms were strong, cradling her in safety and causing her to forget her pain. Placing a hand on his chest, she looked up at him; his face was peppered with the beginnings of stubble. Warmth radiated out of his body; his heart pumped methodically in his chest, reaching out to her with every beat.

An hour later she sat up in bed, bathed and in a robe, her ankle balanced on a fat pillow. Glinda perched on the edge of the bed, placing a bag of ice over the brace.

"My heavens, child!" Eudora came into the room, rushing toward the bed and examining the injury. Clicking her tongue at the brace, she continued, "I heard about the fire! And thank goodness, not a soul was left in that building! What a valiant army we Ozians have!" She bowed to Aaron. "You've done a brilliant job with them, Your Majesty! Simply brilliant! And word of your own heroic effort with that little girl has already spread to the four corners of OZ, I daresay! Oh!" She ran back to the door to meet a servant arriving with a tray of tea.

"Now," she turned back, heading toward the bed. "Out, out! All of you!" Setting the tray onto the nightstand, she looked down at Aaron who sat in a chair by the bedside. "I'm afraid that means you too, Your Highness! This young lady needs her rest! My goodness, I can't imagine, the poor thing…" She flew across the room and began rummaging through a chest for a nightgown.

"Rest!" Nick chortled. "I feel like I've had about five cups of coffee just listening to that old thing croon-" Glinda slapped him on the shoulder, silencing him. Eudorah continued to delve through the trunk, oblivious. Dorothy laughed.

"Goodnight, dear." Glinda rose from the bedside, kissing her on the forehead. "Get some sleep."

"'Night, Glinda."

Nick stood. "Need anything before I go? Another pillow, some water? _A tranquilizer gun_?" He winked, patting her knee.

She smirked. "I'll be alright. Goodnight, Nick." The pair left; Eudora continued to bustle back and forth through the room, humming as she went. Aaron got out of his chair and sat on the edge of the bed, placing his hand over hers.

"I'm sorry about the way tonight turned out."

"I'm alive; I'd say it turned out pretty well." she smiled.

He breathed out a sigh of relief, returning the expression. She was right. He didn't even want to think of the alternate ending that day might have had. He raised his hand to her arm, leaning in to kiss her. Eudora let out a deliberate cough in the background, stopping him in his tracks. The corner of his mouth rose in a half smile. He pecked her on the forehead.

"Goodnight." He stood, walking to the door and holding his hands in the air toward Eudora. "I'm out, I'm out!"

That night, for the first time since he'd become human, he had no desire to stay awake and busy. Lying in bed, he stared contentedly up through the giant skylight in his room, marveling at two facts: First, that his world could be simultaneously besieged with such great amounts of both love and fear, and second, that the love was able, even if only for that moment, to eclipse the fear entirely, stealing away its power.

#

"Dorothy," Aaron whispered, creaking open the door to her room. It was deep into the night; he stood in the doorframe, a shadowy figure. She sat up in bed as he crossed the floor, floating over the distance between them and sitting on the edge of the bed. He immediately took her face into his hands and began kissing her passionately. She drew close, melting into his warmth.

"Aaron…" She leaned back onto the bed, pulling him down with her. He kissed her collarbone.

"My little bird…"

Her heart faltered. He continued to caress her, kissing at her neck. Trembling, she reached for the lamp on top of the nightstand, clicking it on. Alex's face shone bright in the glow. His smile was twisted and dark.

"I've found you."

She tried to scream, but nothing would come out. Her body was frozen. Again and again she filled her lungs with air, forcing it out with no sound. He gripped her arms, shaking her. "What's wrong, little bird? What's wrong? Wake up! Wake up little bird!" He laughed feverishly.

"Dorothy! Wake up! Dorothy!" Eudora looked into Dorothy's face as she continued to sit up in bed with her eyes open, launching out a constant torrent of screams. Several other servants had flown into the room in their pajamas, staring at the spectacle and unsure of what to do. Aaron sprung into the room, shoving past the group of servants and flying over to the bed; he was wearing only pajama pants, his feet and chest bare.

"What's happening?"

"She just started screaming; she can't wake up!" Eudora stood back, wringing her hands and permitting him to take her place on the bedside.

He pulled Dorothy close as she screamed, placing his hand over her head and rocking her slowly. She was doused in sweat.

"Dorothy, you're dreaming. Wake up, sweetheart…wake up." She continued to shake, but drew silent. Gaining consciousness, she shrieked again, shoving him back and staring anxiously into his face. She looked to Eudora and the cluster of servants in the room. Nick bounded in, a disheveled robe tied loosely around his body.

"What in the hell is going on in here!? Aaron?..."

Dorothy looked at Nick, then back at Aaron. Trembling, she leaned back and raised her hand to his face. The same warm, stubbled skin from earlier scuffed against her palm. Her face twitched; tears pooled in her eyes. She buried her head into his shoulder, weeping. He rubbed at her back, still rocking her.

"It's okay. It was a dream; it's alright…Eudora," he turned. "Get her some water." Eudora sprinted to the end of the room, returning with a glass of clear liquid. "Drink this." He handed it to her. She took the glass without drinking. Nick blinked, staring at the scene.

"Everyone get out." He held open the door as the servants filed out. The last to leave, he looked back at his friends. They deserved their time together; God only knew how long that would be. He walked into the hall, closing the door silently behind him.

"What do you need?" Aaron spoke softly, pressing his thumb to her cheek and wiping away the tears. She blinked; more of them poured out onto his hand.

"You." She stretched her arm out and set the glass onto the bed, taking the back of his neck in her hands and pressing her lips against his. He pulled her in. The glass tipped over, soaking the duvet.

"Don't leave me alone." She kissed at his neck.

He breathed into her shoulder. "What were you dreaming about?"

"Alex. I couldn't scream. It was so real…don't leave..."

"I'm not going to leave." He held her for a moment, considering his words. "Nick told me about Alex."

She snuffled, keeping him pulled close and running her fingers through his tousled hair. "He's going to find me, Aaron. I don't know how I know, but he's going to find me."

"He can't hurt you here. I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you."

Her heart was pounding; she pulled back, breathing into her still trembling hands and shaking her head.

"Let's get out of here." He pulled the blankets off of her, scooping her out of bed.

"Where are we going?"

"Where would you like?"

She paused. "The library."

He smiled. "Nice choice."

Ten minutes later they sat on the floor in front of the fireplace in the library, a chess set wedged between them. Dorothy sat with her braced ankle extended into the flickering light that spilled out onto the floor from the fire. A servant entered with two glasses and a bottle of amber liquid. Aaron poured a glass, handing it to her.

"What is it?" She took the glass, smelling its contents.

"Something Nick crafted; it's a blend, mostly cognac." He took a sip, squinting his eyes and grimacing. He raised his glass to her. "Your move."

She stared at the board, moving her king to E7 and swirling the drink in her glass. She nipped at the pungent concoction; her face screwed up.

"This is disgusting."

He laughed. "It'll help you sleep. It gets a little easier to drink as you go on."

"I'm sure it does." She took another taste.

He lifted a knight and placed it into its new location.

"Your bruises are starting to fade…"

She covered her neck with her hand, turning to look into the fire. Immediately he felt remorseful.

"I'm sorry; I shouldn't have brought it up."

She rubbed at the marks before bending to make her next move.

"It's fine..." Alex's twisted smile burned into her lids with every blink, an afterimage of the nightmare. She took a large gulp of Nick's liquid design, washing him away. Aaron ran his thumb in a circle along the grooves of his rook.

"Will you tell me how it happened?"

She lifted the glass to watch the light from the flames travel through the drink. "It was right after Henry's funeral; He took me back to the house to pack…he was in a hurry to get me on a ship to his country. I had this rocking chair…Henry made it for me when I was little. It must have taken him a month to build; it was really beautiful." Smiling poignantly, she continued. "I wanted to take it with me on the ship…it was one of the only things I had left that meant something to me. He broke it against a tree in the front yard; it's probably still sitting there in pieces right now." She exhaled, downing the rest of her drink. "I tried to stop him, and he nearly choked the life out of me." She held out the glass. "Can I get another of these?"

He filled the glass higher than the first time.

"Thanks." She moved her queen to B8. "Your move."

"Did you love him?"

"What?"

"Were you in love with him?"

Her expression crumpled. "No."

"Then why were you going to marry him?"

She scoffed. "That's a bit of a brazen question."

He stared into her, unspeaking. She felt embarrassed by the decision, but didn't want to hide any part of herself from him.

"I said yes because Henry asked me to. Alex was different at first; he seemed like such a selfless person. He didn't even know us but when he found out how ill Henry was and that I had no one to help…he's a doctor…I don't know how it would have ended for Henry without him." She bent her extended knee and lowered it again. "We were about to lose the farm; Henry was concerned about me having no one and being homeless. I couldn't let him die worrying about me…and I was scared. I couldn't fathom life without Em and Henry, and Alex was there…he was the only one who was there."

A dull pain thudded through Aaron's heart.

"Henry wouldn't have wanted you with Alex had he known. He loved you."

She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. She whispered through the lump in her throat.

"I know…"

"I understand that fear…wondering what kind of an existence you could possibly have without someone; being terrified of them leaving you alone with that existence and trying to make something of it." He sipped at his drink. "You loved Henry and Emily when they were alive; you had the chance to tell them so, to experience that kind of connection with them…" He breathed out. "Nick always talked about the value of the heart, but I never understood it. To me, the heart was useless; it only distracted from intellectual progress." He moved a pawn without consideration. "Then I became human..." His eyes glossed over. "I never loved her, Dorothy."

"Ozma?"

He nodded.

"You did love her..."

"No," he shook his head, putting his hand to his mouth. "No, I didn't. I was an Immortal; I wasn't capable of it." He laughed lightly through the tears. "I was with her every day…I took care of her, protected her, read her stories, made sure she ate right...Then she grew older; she didn't need me for those things anymore, but we stayed close. Some nights we'd sit in this very spot, just talking for hours. I knew everything about her; we were the closest friends, and she trusted me to help her rule the kingdom. Every year that passed, she grew in wisdom and goodness, filling her purpose in life. I stayed the same, but she kept growing older…and older…I had a daughter, a friend, and a mother in her…and I never loved her. Not until she was gone and it was too late to tell her."

"Aaron," Dorothy ran her hand over his shoulder. "It's never too late to tell her you love her. Her spirit isn't gone, it lives among us; you said so yourself."

He looked at the ground. "Do you really believe that?"

"I know it." They played the game silently for the next minute, ruminating on their losses.

"It's a funny thing, isn't it? That living things die, but Immortals get to go on living forever. It doesn't really seem fair." Dorothy said. She thought of Em, Henry, and Ozma. "Why do you suppose living things have to die?"

For the first time in his life, he didn't have an answer.

"I don't know."

"You're the most intelligent man in OZ; I expect the answer at some point."

"I'll try."

It was an impossible question to answer; scientifically speaking, living things died because their bodies eventually wore out. Remembering his never changing body of straw, he thought of Ozma and what she was to OZ… what OZ wasn't without her. Dorothy was right; it wasn't fair.

"Hey," she moved her king to H8. "Checkmate." She smiled at him. Aaron scanned the board; she'd won.

"You correct me on brain anatomy and can beat me at chess; I think I've found my match." He returned her smile. "Come on, I'll take you back upstairs."

"No, please." She pulled the board back and inched into him. "Let's stay just until the fire dies out."

"Sure." He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the warm sweetness of her hair.

They sat in front of the fire, watching as the flames grew dimmer. A spray of embers cracked out from the logs, diffusing as they floated to the ground like tiny bolls of cotton. He turned to say something, but she had fallen asleep against him. He stared at her face. For a brief second, time gave him back eighty years, and the woman on his shoulder was Ozma. His heart puffed out, trying to trap in the emotion that filled it, endeavoring not to break again. He closed his eyes, looking toward the ceiling and breathing out a prayer to his departed friend.

"Ozma…" he whispered. "I love you."

Upstairs, a faint green radiance shone out through the lid of Dorothy's jewelry box.

Chapter twenty

"I can't believe you're not going to tell me anything! I'm your best friend!" Nick bent to choose a racket from a shaded stand along the wall of the tennis court. Due to the incidents in the previous nights, Glinda shed a defensive spell over the palace; everyone was quarantined to the grounds. The past six days were spent in boredom; Glinda insisted that Elias and Evan stay in OZ until safe travels home could be ensured. Having given up on Dorothy, Evan began to trail Nick and Aaron's every move, desperate for entertainment. They'd snuck out after lunch, evading him for a peaceful round of tennis.

"You've been at this for the past six days! The story isn't going to change; nothing happened. We went to the library and played chess." Aaron spun his racket in his hand and swung it through the air, feeling it out.

"You know what? I changed my mind; I don't want to know. I feel like you're dating my daughter." Nick bounced the tennis ball off of the floor several times before serving. Aaron caught the ball in his hand and stood, motionless.

"What?"

"It's weird."

His face burned. "You were encouraging it!"

"Serve the damned ball already!"

Miffed, Aaron tossed the ball into the air and smashed it onto Nick's side of the court; it soared into the bounds, recoiling off the ground and flying over a hedge. Nick rolled his eyes and jogged to the edge of the court for another ball.

"Let me rephrase that…" He brought it to the net and served. "It would be weird for _me_. But I had a heart when I knew her before; you didn't." He swatted at the returning ball. Aaron sent it flying back again.

"So you do love her then?"

"We all do."

"Don't be evasive with me; are you in love with her or not?" He smacked the ball over the net; Aaron sprinted for it, swatting his racket and missing. He flushed, darting over to retrieve the ball. Walking back to the net, he breathed heavily, wiping his brow with his arm.

"Nick…"

"Yes?" he smiled wryly, leaning his weight into the net.

"I'll admit that there is a possibility…"

"That…?"

Aaron breathed. "That I may have fallen… rather hard."

"Ha!"

#

Dorothy waited for Eudora to leave the room before setting down her book and grasping for her crutches. With her ankle sprained she was limited on activities and had spent most of her time in the library where she now sat in a chair, her leg sustained on an overstuffed ottoman. She paused for a moment, listening to the rapid clicking of Eudora's heels echoing further and further down the hall until it was inaudible. She struggled to a stand, tucking the crutches under her arms and heading for the door. She scanned the hall; it was empty. As quietly as she could manage, she tapped out into the hall.

The stairs to the playroom were too steep for two crutches; she clacked one of them against the stone wall inside the staircase and ascended carefully, grasping onto the railing with her free hand. As she reached the top, an image of a younger Ozma materialized in her mind.

"Birds fly over the rainbow, through the stars and to their tree, where the Auras await them, you and me!" Her small hands pressed each button as she showed little Dorothy the code to the playroom. She smiled at the memory, pressing against the stones: bird, rainbow, star, tree, Aura. The door clicked.

She limped across the room to the suspended drawings, pulling the one of Ozma and herself out of a miniature clothespin. She stared at the picture, running her finger over the gold 'OZ' on Ozma's poorly drawn head. Pinning it up again, she headed for the sheer tent in the center of the room. She sat on a little chair, picking up child sized pieces of china and examining them, her elbows bent and resting on the table.

Something plunked onto the floor from across the room. It rolled toward the tent, brushing through the light fabric and stopping against her braced foot. She knelt, picking it up. It was a round piece of brass coated with soot on one side. She brushed her hand against a panel of fabric to open her view to the room. No one was there.

Standing, she pulled her lone crutch to her side and began hobbling toward the fireplace. The ball had come from the edge of the screen. Placing it onto the exposed screw beneath, she twisted until the ball was fastened tight. A loud snap sounded; her heart jumped. The wall next to the fireplace slid open, revealing a dim passage of stairs.

Her expression twisting, she neared the cavity. It was too dark to make out how deep they went. She placed her hand on the wall, peering down into the blackness. A shock jolted through her; the stairs became illuminated. A man stood five steps down, holding an infant in one arm and a torch in another. The baby was crying.

"Hurry!"

"Pearl, come along Pearl, darling, please..."

Dorothy twisted back in response to the second voice. A very young child held a woman's hand at the top of the stairs behind her.

"Just pick her up! We don't have time! They've already killed him; they'll be looking for the princesses next!" the man shouted back.

"Everything's going to be alright, Pearl, come along …"

"Daddy…" The child reached back for the door, beginning to whimper. The woman picked up the little girl and walked through Dorothy as a cold vapor; her heart pounded hard in her chest as she turned back, watching the couple descend the steps.

"Hello?"

They kept moving without notice.

#

"I knew it!" Nick gloated. "When's the wedding?"

"Never."

"What!?"

"You said it yourself; it's too strange; I may not have had a heart at the time, but I still have my memory." Aaron rubbed at the back of his neck, shielding it from the heat of the suns. "Sometimes though, I look at her and I just-" he shook his head. "She's so gorgeous; we have so much in common…"

"So what's the problem?"

"The problem is that she's _Dorothy_. I knew her when she was only a child."

"Hey, I may have given you the wrong notion earlier." Nick tapped him on the shoulder. "Things have changed. Time has passed. Neither of you are the same person you were ninety years ago. She's not a little girl anymore, Aaron; she's a grown woman." He laughed, winking. "And you're not a scarecrow anymore; you're a grown man."

"I don't know…" Aaron sat on the ground, leaning against the net. "I've let this go too far with her; I should just stop it now…"

"Wait a minute." Nick crossed the net to Aaron's side, slouching to meet his gaze. "I want you to think about this. Close your eyes."

"What? No."

"Just do it."

Aaron rolled his eyes, then closed them.

"Now what?"

"I want you to think about yourself as an old man. You're sitting at the table with your family; your children and your grandchildren are all around you."

"This is stupid, Nick."

"Who's sitting next to you?"

Aaron paused. For a moment, the chair in his mind's eye was empty. He held Dorothy back, afraid to place her there.

"Who do you want sitting next to you, Aaron?"

The chair filled. An older Dorothy sat next to him, laughing and talking with the people around them. She placed a wrinkled hand on his; an emerald wedding ring was on her finger. She smiled at him; her face had laugh lines, her hair was silver. She was beautiful.

"Open your eyes."

Aaron blinked against the suns' light.

"I want to tell you something," Nick leaned closer. "I'd give anything,_ anything_ to have Nimee be that woman at my table. But it's too late for me. If you really love Dorothy, don't let doubt take her away from you… You'll regret it the rest of your life." He sniffed, standing and crossing the net again.

"So let's play already."

"Nick," Aaron rose. "Thank you."

Nick smiled. "You're my best friend; I want you to be happy."

"You're a wise man."

"Hell, I've always been brighter than you, Scarecrow."

Aaron's brows lifted. Nick smirked and continued, slouching in wait for Aaron's serve.

"When I'm well polished..."

#

The door slid closed again, trapping Dorothy inside the staircase. The light from the man's torch bounced up and down inside the walls as they moved downward. She followed, clacking her crutch onto every step and calling after them.

"Hello?"

"Here's the map; we're instructed us to hide at the spot marked there until someone comes for us; it's in the Black Forest." The man handed a piece of paper to the woman holding Pearl. She turned it in her hands, straining to keep hold of the child.

"Can we make it?"

"There should be some horses waiting outside. We have to try."

She followed them to the base of the steps where the man pulled at a brick in the wall, unfastening the lock of an invisible door. He pushed at it; moonlight glowed through the crack created around its perimeter. Dorothy looked at her watch. It was two o'clock in the afternoon. She hurried behind them, barely slipping out into the night as the door closed again. The wind was violent; the smell of rain was in the air, and thunder rattled in the distance.

The little girl cried, reaching for the door. Dorothy stepped out of the way, not wishing to again feel the chill that came with the spirits' touch. The girl turned once more to her, this time looking directly at her; her eyes were wide and solemn; there was something familiar about her face.

The woman placed her on a horse and raised her foot to the stirrup, pulling on the saddle to mount. Dorothy inched closer to the child.

"…Pearl?"

The girl nodded.

"What's happening?"

The child reached out to her. Dorothy tentatively stretched her hand to touch her tiny fingers. Another jolt rushed through her. Lightning crashed in front of her; the horses raised onto their hind legs, whinnying. They were in the Black Forest.

"Ozma!" the man shouted. The baby he'd been holding in his arms had fallen to the ground. A pack of wolves surrounded them, growling and staring hungrily at the horses' legs.

"Felix!" the woman cried out to the man, sobbing for the babe on the forest ground. The wolves shot at the horses, snapping at them with jaws like steel traps. They ran, trampling them underfoot. Several wolves remained, skulking in a circle around the abandoned baby, drawing closer. Another bolt of lightning hurtled along the ground in front of her, this one of a strange cobalt blue light, frightening away the wolves. A haggard woman approached, crouching and scooping up the baby. The end of her staff billowed with blue smoke. She looked around her, her glance passing over Dorothy, and crept back into the darkness of the woods, the baby nestled closely against her chest.

Dorothy's gaze shot deep into the forest, searching for the couple who still had Pearl. The woman's scream reverberated through thickets of trees, hooking onto her and pulling her through the vegetation to where they stood. A whirlwind blew through them, sending them into the air. Immediately after Dorothy was taken up, her body jerked into another vision.

It was peaceful. White light streamed through clouds in the sky, shimmering down upon the bodies of Pearl and the servants who had tried to save her on the night of her father's assassination. She approached them.

"Pearl?" She touched the girl's back, pressing through it and wrenching back at the cold.

"I'm alive."

Dorothy turned to see Pearl being carried away by someone hidden. She twisted back, looking at the ground. The bodies were gone.

"I'm not dead..." Pearl called out, her tiny voice weakening as she was carried farther away by the figure. "I'm alive..."

"Pearl?" Dorothy's vision darkened; something thick and sharp compressed into her. "Pearl!" She shoved through the thicket, falling onto the ground.

"Dorothy?"

She looked up; two figures raced over, kneeling in front of her. One was dim, the other shining. Her vision cleared; it was Aaron and Nick.

"What are you doing out here?" Nick pulled a stick out of her hair and lifted her off the ground.

"I…" She looked back at the hedge.

"Where are your crutches? Where's Eudorah?"

Aaron was buried under the hedge, stretching for something on the other side. He pulled her crutch through.

"Here's one of them..."

"Your Majesty!" A voice shouted from the door leading out to the court. A man in uniform sprinted toward them.

"Tik Tok has information for you regarding the Petra."

Aaron's heart skipped. "Where is he?"

"He's just leaving the prison now; he asked to meet you in the library at your earliest convenience."

"I'll be right there."

The soldier bowed and turned, heading back for the shadowy indoors.

"I have to go," Aaron turned to Nick and Dorothy. "Nick, would you make sure this one gets back to her room?" He ran his hand through her hair to pull out a leaf. "And no more crutchless field trips!"

"No way." Nick started. "I'm your advisor; I need to hear this. We're coming along."

Aaron's face hardened. "I think _Dorothy_ doesn't need to hear this." He, Nick, and Glinda had already discussed keeping Dorothy's knowledge of Everard limited unless the threat was deemed serious. They didn't want to alarm her unnecessarily; she'd been through enough, and Aaron still had a chance at helping her to self actualize. Frightening her would only hamper his efforts.

"I'm _advising_ you that as someone at _your table_, she does."

"What are you talking about?" Dorothy asked.

Aaron heaved a sigh. "Fine. Let's go." He reached into his shirt, pulling out the emerald pendant. Pressing a button on its side, he spoke into it. "The library. Now."

Tik Tok was already in the library when they arrived.

"Tik Tok!" Dorothy's face brightened as Nick carried her into the room.

"I am sor-ry Miss, do I know you?" Tick Tock twitched his copper mustache.

"I'm Dorothy Gale; don't you remember me?"

"Do-ro-thy Gale…from Kan-sas." He blinked. "You've grown."

"Turned into a lovely lady, didn't she?" Nick smiled, setting her onto the same chair from which she'd earlier escaped.

"I have no per-cep-tion of love-li-ness; I have been de-signed by Smith and Tin-ker only to be the ser-vant of my poss-es-ssor…"

"Oh great, I've set him off…" Nick mumbled under his breath.

"I have been com-miss-ioned by His Ma-jes-ty to lead the ar-my of OZ…"

"Yes, Tik Tok." Nick ran his hands through tin waves of hair, suppressing his irritation.

"That is my on-ly pur-pose."

"Well, it's nice to see you again..." Dorothy said; she'd forgotten Tik Tok's methodical personality.

"You called?" Glinda entered. She stopped. "Dorothy's here?"

Aaron folded his arms. "Nick insisted."

Glinda fired a glance at Nick. "I see."

Aaron sat down. "What's the news? Did you get him to talk?"

"Yes, Your Ma-jes-ty. I have tran-scribed his en-tire con-fes-sion." He pounded over to Aaron, handing him a set of papers.

"Thank you." Aaron's emerald eyes scanned back and forth along the documents, flipping the pages as he went. He looked up at Dorothy, his brow furrowing, then back down at the article. At the last page, he slunk back into his chair, covering his face in his hands. "Are you sure all of this is true?"

"I have al-rea-dy ta-ken the lib-er-ty of brin-ging in two oth-er Pet-ra for ques-tion-ing; in bel-iev-ing they would save their own lives, they each con-fessed stor-ies con-fir-ming the or-ig-in-al."

Nick stood, taking the documents from Aaron and scanning through them.

"Dorothy," Aaron turned to her. "Why didn't you tell us you'd encountered Everard in Kansas?"

"Who?"

"Everard."

She stared back, confused. He pointed to the document in Nick's hands. "This says he was with you in Kansas and had attempted to bring you to the Nome King's mountain with him."

She shook her head. "It's wrong; I don't know who that is…"

Nick's expression flattened. He handed the document to Glinda, stepping closer to Aaron and Dorothy.

"She needs to remember; we need to tell her."

"Tell me what?" You're scaring me; what's going on?"

"Dorothy," Nick knelt by the chair. "Do you remember the second time you came here? When you met Ozma? The Queen of Ev and her children had been turned into ornaments by the Nome King, with the help of Evoldo, the King of Ev. Everard is his illegitimate son; he destroyed Ev with dark magic. We don't know for certain how, but he's still alive…this document says he intended to bring you into OZ to use you as leverage against Aaron and overthrow the country."

Dorothy scanned the ground. "I do remember him…but Ozma protected us. She protected Ev. He can't hurt us, can he?"

"Ozma could only shield us as long as she was alive, Dorothy." Glinda spoke. "Without an Aura, we're not protected. Everard should have been dead by now; He must be doing the same thing as his father…the Nome King must be helping him to stay young."

"But I never saw him in Kansas; Emily died, then Henry, then I came here. Alex was the only new person I'd met, and he was from my world."

"The ever delightful Dr. Reve." Nick glowered.

"Wait, stop…" Aaron stood. "His name is Dr. Alex Reve?" He grabbed a pen off of a nearby table, taking the documents from Glinda and flipping them over. "How is it spelled?"

Dorothy's voice cracked. "Reve. R-E-V-E."

Aaron scribbled onto the paper. "Read it backward." He handed it to her.

"'Dr. A. Reve'" was jotted out onto the paper in caps in Aaron's handwriting.

Her heart stopped. She looked up at him. "I didn't know…It can't be…" Alex had talked about a homeland to which he was taking her; she never found out where that homeland was. She flipped the papers over and began reading them:

_We spread out into both Ev and OZ…our orders were to kill as many people as possible without getting caught, and to trap the souls into body parts for Everard's use. We weren't taught how to utilize the energy; only how to capture it… _

"The Petra are responsible for the murders?"

"They're using the souls of innocent people to fuel Everard's magic. It's how he intends to overthrow OZ." Glinda spoke. Dorothy read on:

_…the Nome King used his belt to send Everard to Kansas, then the soul energy to conjure the tidal wave that would take them both back to the mountain. His intention was to use Miss Gale as a pawn to conquer OZ, and then use the Ozian army to overthrow Ev as well…_

Dorothy placed her hand over her mouth.

…_He intends to take the witch Glinda, King Scarecrow, and Nick Chopper back to the mountain and give them to the Nome King as ornaments…he has enough energy to do it, and he's coming for Miss Gale; she's his to kill. _

She looked up. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"We didn't want to upset you," Aaron started. "We weren't sure how big of a threat he was at first. Dorothy…Ozma warned us about Everard just before she died; she said he would try to kill you. That's why we contacted you; to protect you."

"You didn't want to _upset _me? Wow, thanks Aaron!" Wishing she could stand, she sat stewing.

"We still have a chance at finding Pearl. I was going through some archives earlier-" Glinda started.

Aaron cut her off. "Glinda, would you let it go? Pearl is _dead_. We have no Aura."

"Pearl?" Dorothy straightened in her seat.

"Ozma's sister? What does she have to do with anything?" Nick's expression twisted.

Glinda spoke to Dorothy. "Pearl and Ozma were taken the night of the assassination of King Pastoria. His advisor sent them out with a couple of servants to protect them…they never came back. It wasn't until eleven years later we uncovered Ozma when Aaron lost control of-" She stopped herself. "When the kingdom was under attack. There's a prophecy by Tenebris Vir, an ancient Aura; it talks about Aurian sisters, and how one of them helps the other to self actualize and save OZ from destruction. We're thinking it could be about them." She pulled out the manuscript with the prophecy. Nick intercepted it, scanning his tin eyes along the lines of text.

"_You're _thinking it could be about them." Aaron corrected.

"I saw her; I saw Pearl..." Dorothy said. Her friends stared back. She continued, "I was in the playroom upstairs; I found a hidden staircase. I saw a vision of that same night you're talking about…she's alive. Pearl is alive, I know it."

Glinda's heart leapt. "Where is she?"

"I don't know- it seemed like she was far away. But I saw her; she said 'I'm alive.' She looked right at me."

Glinda looked to Aaron. "We could still find her; she could save us all..."

"It took us eight months to get Dorothy here, and we knew where she was! How long until Everard gets here?" Aaron said.

Glinda sighed. "If Dorothy was transported here a little over a week ago, Everard must have been sent back to the Nome King's mountain at the same time. It takes a week to travel through the desert without a carpet…"

"So what you're saying is he could be here any time now?" Nick croaked.

"It could be days…maybe hours."

"Hours?" Aaron's heart faltered. "And you think we can drum up the dead sister of an Aura in that time?"

"She's alive." Dorothy and Glinda spoke together.

Damning the consequences, Aaron knelt in front of Dorothy, taking her shoulders. "_You_ are an Aura, Dorothy. _You_ can protect OZ."

"Stop it, Aaron!" Glinda shouted. "You're not helping."

"I'm helping more than anyone! You want to chase after Ozma's sister when there's an Aura sitting right here!" He took Dorothy's hands. "Listen to me, Dorothy; there's something I didn't get the chance to tell you; I didn't save that girl at the theater the other night; you did."

Dorothy's expression twisted. "I watched you pull her out from under the archway."

"It had broken out of place, Dorothy. There was a green glow around it; it was hovering there, connected to nothing. And Ozma's necklace was glowing around your neck."

"That's not true; I didn't do anything!"

"And later, when those crows attacked us, it glowed again. You killed them!"

Her heart raced. She repeated her words. "I didn't do anything…"

"Pardon me," George appeared, leaping off of the top of a bookcase. "I couldn't help but be awakened from my nap by all of this shouting." She rubbed against Aaron's leg. "She brought a mocking bird back from the dead; I saw it myself!"

"Good girl," Aaron rubbed the cat's back. "See?"

"That bird wasn't dead; I didn't bring anything back to life..."

"I was with her by Ozma's gravesite…" Nick spoke meekly. "When she talked about how she missed her, every blossom on that magnolia tree fell off. It was like she was influencing it somehow through her own feelings." He looked apologetically at her. "I'm sorry; don't you remember?"

"No." She breathed faster. "This is absurd!"

"What's absurd is that you keep refusing to acknowledge what you are! How long are you going to keep making excuses before you accept it? You _are_ an Aura!"

"Aaron." Glinda touched his shoulder. He jerked away.

"She needs to hear this. Dorothy, listen to me. You killed two witches. You helped to save an entire kingdom from destruction…you used to be able to merely look at a person and control his mind; you were seven years old and you reduced a two hundred and fifty pound Evian soldier to an incompetent, drooling fool! You're an Aura, and if you can't see that soon, this place is going to be nothing. We're all going to be nothing!"

Dorothy's hands shook. "We can find Pearl; she's the Aura. She can save us…Glinda?" Her eyes began to water.

"Darling, I think Aaron's right. There may not be enough time…We need an Aura _now_; the army can't protect us for long and my spell is only good for the palace."

"Nick?"

He shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, kid. We've all seen things from you, but you don't seem to see them yourself."

"But I'm not what you think I am…I don't know what you want from me…"

Aaron stood. "Tik Tok." The mechanical man saluted. "Send the soldiers out into the city; search every building. They are to arrest all Petra on sight and bring them back to the prison. And tell them to be ready to receive a class 'A' alert at a moment's notice."

"Yes, Your Ma-jes-ty."

"Gracious! I'd intended to save my rat hunt for this evening, but if the prisons are full all of them will be frightened away! It would be best to go now…" George scampered to the door, disappearing out into the hall.

"We should send the Evians back; it isn't safe here. He'll be coming for them next..." Glinda said.

"I'll get them." Nick breathed out, heading for the door. His expression was riddled with distress.

"I'm going to the mirror; I know it's too late, but I want to see Pearl. I want to try to see her." Glinda rushed out behind Nick, leaving Aaron and Dorothy alone. Aaron now sat at a table, his face buried in his hands.

"Aaron…"

He didn't reply. She felt the tears well up again. Still with only one crutch, she stood, looking at him. He didn't move.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry..." She limped out of the room.

#

Dorothy and Nick stood outside with King Elias and Evan. A car had been pulled up; servants were packing bags into the trunk. Two cars both in front and back of theirs were filled with Ozian soldiers; the flying carpet was rolled up and harnessed on top of one of them.

"I wish you were leaving under more pleasant circumstances, Your Highness. His Majesty sends his regards; as you can imagine, he's preoccupied with the matter at hand; he would have liked to see you off himself." Nick bowed to Elias.

"I understand completely. I only hope we'll be back in time for our own people."

Evan grazed Dorothy's arm. "When this is over, will you come visit me in Ev? It'd be nice to see a friend." he smiled sadly at her.

When it was over, would there be an Ev to visit? Or an OZ from which to come?

"I promise." She kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for everything."

Nick and Dorothy waved as the Evians disappeared into the black belly of the car.

"Will they make it alright?" Dorothy watched the caravan slide out of the driveway. Her gut wrenched. "I don't feel right about sending them away..."

"That carpet is fast; I'm sure they'll be alright. And they have the soldiers."

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Dinner'll be ready in a while; are you coming?"

"No." She hobbled up the steps. "I can't eat."

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know…" She limped into the palace; Nick watched as the darkness inside swallowed her up.

#

Nick and Aaron sat at the dining table; dinner had been eaten and the dishes cleared over three hours ago; Glinda and Dorothy never showed. Aaron looked at the ash tray in front of Nick; cigarette butts were piled high inside it. He lit another, drawing the poison into his lungs and expelling it. Aaron waved away the smoke that wafted toward him.

"How many of those are you going to have?"

"As many as it damned well pleases me to have."

"That's bad for your heart, Nick."

He took another puff. Driving out the smoke, he spoke.

"Does it really matter at this point?"

Aaron's expression sunk. He stared at Nick as he sucked again at the cigarette; the embers at its end brightened. He reached forward.

"Give me one of those." He lit the end, breathing in and drawing the sharp sting of smoke into his lungs. They sat silent for a moment.

"So this is really it…" Nick laughed nervously.

"I guess so." Aarons hand quavered slightly as he brought the smoldering white stick to his mouth. Glinda exploded through the dining room doors; her eyes were red, her face soaked in tears. Aaron stamped out his cigarette, tossing it onto the table and standing.

"Is he here?" He fumbled into his shirt, reaching for the pendant. She shook her head.

"I know where Pearl is."

#

"How do you know it's her?" Aaron asked. The threesome walked through the shadows of the palace halls, heading for Glinda's room.

"That mirror may be weak, but it's never wrong." She pinched the latch on her door, pressing into it. Her robe fluttered behind her as she crossed the room to a standing mirror; it was the same which Aaron had spent countless hours in front of, trying to reach Dorothy. Glinda stood facing it.

"Show me Pearl Pastoria."

The mirror's surface became like liquid, rippling reflective waves of light before settling again. A young woman appeared in the mirror.

"You're kidding…" Nick breathed, laughing.

"It never worked like that for me..." Aaron smiled at the reflection of the woman.

"So we're saved! Let's go get her!" Nick jogged for the door. Glinda and Aaron remained stuck to the floor. He stopped. "Come on…"

"She was taken away as a child, Nick. She doesn't know who she is anymore." Glinda said.

"We could tell her who she is!"

"And you think she'd believe it?" Aaron asked. "It's just like when Ozma was a boy; that existence was all she knew; she refused to believe she'd ever been a princess. We practically had to hold her down to let Mombi change her back."

"So what do we do?" Nick's voice wavered.

"Nothing. Ozma is the only one who can help her to self actualize; it's just as the prophecy says." Glinda said. Nick's mind reverted back to the words of Tenebris Vir he'd earlier scanned in the library.

"Ozma's dead, Glinda."

"Yes."

"She can't help anyone; she's in the spirit world now."

"That's why Pearl is going to pay her a visit, so she _can_ help her."

"She'd have to die to do that; she couldn't come back..." An image of the printed prophecy flashed in his mind. "Glinda…why was 'what a man takes, a witch will give' circled on that piece of paper?"

Glinda glanced at Aaron, then back to Nick. "That's where I come in; I'm going to trade my life for hers."

Nick's jaw hung open. "No…Aaron, no! Tell her no!"

"It's our only hope of saving OZ." Her eyes watered again.

Nick stumbled back, running his hands over his hair and pacing the floor to the open window along the wall.

"Okay, yes, so she's Ozma's sister; that doesn't automatically make her an Aura. What if she isn't? What if the prophecy is about someone else?"

Glinda looked into the mirror again. "We're going to have to take that chance; we don't have another option."

"Aaron," He walked back to his friend. "Please, don't let her do this." His eyes glossed over.

Glinda smiled, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "I've exhausted my time here. I'm ready to carry out my final purpose."

Aaron looked at Glinda. Her once young and beautiful face had aged over the years; though her body still had more time, her eyes exposed a worn and jaded soul. Her life had been rich; she saw the rise and fall of OZ on more than one occasion, all the while maintaining her integrity as a good witch, constantly coming to the rescue of everyone. What could OZ possibly be without her?

"Glinda," he whispered, enclosing her in his arms. Nick stood back watching, tears pouring down his staggered countenance. He hesitated before leaning into the pair, wrapping his arms shining arms around them both.

#

"Hi."

Aaron walked toward the swinging bench. The conservatory was illuminated by dozens of glowing lamps; an old gardener wearing overalls and a cap traveled around the greenhouse, tapping his ladder onto the ground and climbing it, putting them out one by one.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Just a lucky guess; may I sit with you?"

"Sure."

He sat back on the bench, compelling it into a slow, heavy sway. The windows of the conservatory were open, letting in the still, sweet air from outside.

"It's a nice night."

"It is." She stared out of the glass ceiling at the stars. "Nights like this remind me of home in the summertime; even the smell is the same. If I just close my eyes, it's like I'm there again…like at any minute I'll hear the porch door creek and out will come Em with mint juleps, Henry sitting next to me, tuning his mandolin."

Aaron's brow wrinkled. What was a mandolin?

"…I could get you a mint julep…" He raised his hand to the gardener.

"No; thank you." She pulled his hand down; he clasped it.

"I'm sorry…about earlier."

"Don't be. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." They rocked in silence for a moment.

"Dorothy…Glinda found Pearl."

"What!? Why didn't you tell me sooner? Where is she?"

He smiled. "She's in OZ."

"You're kidding! All this time? When is she coming? Are we going to go get her? Do you know where she is?"

"She'll be here really soon. Glinda's going to help her get here." With every lantern that went out, the glass walls and ceiling pulled in more of the blackness from the night outside.

"This is incredible! So we're saved! If she is an Aura, I mean. She has to be…"

"She is; I'm certain of it."

She exhaled. "Thank God."

"Dorothy…Everard is still coming; he's still going to try to destroy OZ. Things are going to get scary. Please trust me."

"What are you talking about? Pearl is going to save us; nothing bad can happen."

He swallowed. "You're right; everything is going to be okay in the end. But before the end, I need you to trust me. Anything I do…it's for you. Just remember that, no matter what happens. Tell me you'll trust me. Even if the things I do don't make sense…" His face grew dimmer as more lanterns went out.

"I trust you, Aaron."

They sat quietly again, the chair still swaying beneath them.

"Are you afraid?" he asked.

She paused. "Yes…But I'm tired of letting fear make my decisions for me. I'm tired of fearing what the next day will bring, or what it'll take away. I want more than that kind of life; I want to be more than that…" The second to last lantern went out.

Aaron breathed. He turned, taking her face gently in his hands. The emerald pools washed over her.

"Dorothy, you are so much more than that. You're so much more than you know…"

The last lantern went out, leaving them in blackness. The gardener trudged across the terrain, lugging his ladder with him out a side door. Aaron opened his mouth, then closed it, hesitating.

_Who do you want at your table, Aaron? _Nick's voice echoed in his brain.

"Dorothy…" he whispered. She looked at him. For a moment, in the darkness, he saw the same woman at his table from earlier, worn and beautiful. He gathered his courage.

"I love you…I'm in love with you."

She placed her hand over the back of his head, smiling.

"I'm in love with you, Aaron…"

They leaned in, melting together. A gust of wind blew in through the windows, rustling the trees and exciting hundreds of fireflies to a soft, stirring glow.

Chapter twenty one

"Dorothy, Dorothy!" A six toed cat paw batted against Dorothy's cheek.

"Hmm?" She turned her face, burying it into her pillow.

"Wake up! My master is in trouble!"

Dorothy's eyes darted open. "What? Aaron?"

"This way…" George bounded off of the bed and ran to the door.

"George, wait…" Dorothy threw off the covers and grabbed for her crutches. "Where is he?"

"Follow me!" She disappeared into the hall.

"George!" Dorothy hobbled across the room and out into the hall.

"Quickly!" George stood at the end of the hall, her tail twitching back and forth impatiently.

"We should get Nick and Glinda…" Dorothy turned her glance behind her toward Glinda's bedroom. The hall was dark and silent.

"No! He's in trouble; he needs you now! Hurry!" The cat's eyes glowed through the shadows; Dorothy squinted, staring at them. She had never noticed they were purple. She followed George down the hall, limping farther and farther from Glinda's door.

"Outside!" George pawed at the door leading to the back gardens.

"Where outside? What's going on?"

"There's no time! Please! Open the door!"

Dorothy's heart raced. She turned the knob, pulling at the exit.

"Please tell me what's happening…"

George sprung in front of her, racing out of the doorway.

"This way!"

Dorothy followed the cat to the outer reaches of the palace grounds, then stopped.

"George, wait! We can't leave the grounds! It's not protected!" she whispered out into the darkness. There was no response; George was gone.

"Dorothy!" A man's voice cried out from the shadows; it was Aaron's.

"Aaron!?" she shouted, clicking her crutches faster along the earth and leaving the royal grounds. "Where are you?"

"I'm here!" A dark silhouette stood in the distance, unmoving.

"Aaron?" She squinted, clacking across a dirt path toward the figure.

"It's me!"

She tottered faster in the direction of the shadow.

"Aaron!"

The figure turned; Alex's face glowed in the light of the moons.

"It's me, little bird."

Dorothy screamed. George began to wobble and vibrate, morphing into stone and growing in size. It was the Petra from the night club. Two giant limestone hands pressed over her jaws, and he lugged her backward.

"Tie her up, and try not to lose her this time." Alex flung a rope at the Petra and grabbed Dorothy's crutches from underneath her, flinging them out into the darkness. Hundreds of Petra materialized from behind trees and bushes. Alex approached; sweat glossed his forehead.

"Dorothy, my love! I was heartbroken when you left me on the ship! What was it? Couldn't have been the money; old Uncle Henry was only too happy about that. Was it my breath?" He breathed into his palm, smelling it. "Did my charm lose its luster?" He circled her; the Petra had knotted her tightly against a tree and tied a rag around her mouth. She looked down at his waist; the Nome King's belt was fastened around it.

"Don't tell me it's because I intend to turn all of your friends into ornaments and afterward watch you die a slow, agonizing death? Darling," He clicked his tongue, taking her chin in his hand and kissing her cheek. She grimaced, jerking her head away. "Sacrifices must be made in every relationship. You understand this, don't you?"

She glared back at him, breathing hard through the rag.

"Now, now, I'm not a selfish man; I understand these sacrifices are made on both ends…I'll tell you what: I'll turn your lover the Scarecrow into an ornament at the very end; that way he can watch you die first! How does that sound?"

She screamed again; the sound waves were muffled by the rag, carried nowhere. He elbowed her in the temple, knocking her unconscious.

"Women." he scoffed. "Always yakking!" He lifted her lifeless face, staring at it before pulling back and letting it drop again to her chest. "She'll come to in a couple of hours." He sat on a nearby boulder and watched the blackness in the eastern horizon begin to turn to a light grey blue.

"Get me a drink," he growled at a Petra. "I want to be pretty for my date with Scarecrow."

#

"Dorothy!" Aaron ran from room to room within the palace; she was nowhere. Eudora appeared breathless in the doorway of the room where he was frantically opening closet doors and checking under furniture. Shaking, he turned to her.

"Was she in the conservatory?"

"No," she heaved. "We searched everywhere; she's not there."

Aaron's heart walloped in his chest. "Keep looking; I want every servant on this! Find her!" He looked down at the piece of paper he'd found on his pillow that morning.

_Aaron, _

_ Meet me in the gardens outside the palace grounds; bring Nick and Glinda. I'll be waiting._

_ Love, _

_ Dorothy_

It wasn't her handwriting.

"Aaron?" Nick's head poked in the door. "She's not in the playroom or the library."

Aaron felt a wash of nausea rushing through him. He breathed in, reaching a shaking hand to the back of a chair to steady himself.

"He's got her, Aaron." Nick stepped into the room. "We need to go, now."

"Your Majesty!" A man in uniform sprung in through the door, nearly colliding with Nick. George was in his arms, howling in pain.

"The prisons are empty!"

"What!?" Aaron raced over, pulling the cat into his arms. "What happened?"

"I was hunting for rats and that scoundrel Petra grabbed me! The next thing I remember was this man picking me up; I didn't even get my rat!" George licked at her wounds.

"The men who were guarding the prisons are all dead…their ears were cut off." The soldier's face tightened.

"Aaron." Nick's voice dropped like lead in his ears.

"Aaron! Nick!" Glinda's scream reverberated down the hall. Aaron thrust the cat back into the soldier's arms and ran from the room, Nick close behind. They pummeled through the open door to Glinda's room.

"What? What is it?"

Glinda stood near the mirror. An image of Dorothy glimmered out of the frame; she was tied to a tree. Her head hung low; she was motionless.

"He's here…"

"Dorothy…" Nick breathed rapidly.

"I'm ready…I'm ready." Glinda nodded, reassuring herself. Trembling, she raised a glimmering knife, grasping it with both hands and pulling it to rest in front of her torso.

Nick's face twisted; liquid metal poured down his cheeks. He ran to her, lugging her into him. She pulled her arms up, returning his embrace; the knife flashed against the rising sunlight coming in through her window.

"I love you all, so much…" she breathed.

"We love you." Nick sobbed into her hair.

Aaron stared into the mirror. "We have to go, Nick."

Nick pulled back, grasping Glinda's face in his hands and searching it, trying to burn her likeness into his memory.

"Okay…"

"Glinda," Aaron pulled into her, kissing her head. She sniffed; her eyes were red.

"She's still alive. Go. Go, now!"

Aaron took Nick's arm, pulling him to the door. For the briefest second, Nick looked back at the witch; she sat on the floor, the knife in her hands, staring into the mirror. It was the last image he would have of her.

The men ran from the palace out into the back gardens.

"Are you going to call the army?" Nick wiped at his face with his forearm.

"He'll kill her the second he sees them; I have to see her first." Aaron walked at a brisk pace through the terrain of the gardens; his face was stony, hiding the staggering terror inside. As they neared the edge of the palace grounds, he turned his glance to Nick.

"Are you ready?"

"I'm not afraid of that spineless son of a bitch; I'll kill him myself."

"Pearl will take care of that. Just stay close to me."

"Life and limb..." Nick swatted Aaron on the back, repeating his vows to his king. Their feet left the grounds; a woman was tied to a tree in the distance.

"Dorothy!" Aaron ran to her. She was still unconscious; her broken ankle was twisted on the ground, bearing her weight.

"Nick! Help me!" He searched the tree for a knot in the ropes. "Nick?" He turned. Hundreds of Petra stood in a mass behind him. Nick had been taken by two of them and was struggling against their hold, his mouth plastered with stony hands.

"No need to seize him, gentlemen; he knows he's outnumbered. Would you look at that physique!" Everard loomed out of the crowd of stone bodies. "I see we've upgraded, Scarecrow! Good for you!" Clearly inebriated, he approached, inspecting Aaron's human body.

"Not quite as handsome as Dr. Alex Reve, but still, a definite improvement! I must say though, I was disappointed when I learned you'd changed. I was quite looking forward to seeing what kind of ornament you'd make! Ah, well," He treaded over to a black bag resting on the ground near a rose bush. "Even if you're ugly, I was fortunate enough to come across some backup on my way out of the desert!" He tossed the bag onto the ground; dozens of shining objects spilled out of it into the grass.

"Evians make the very best ornaments, don't you think? And a king and prince to boot?" he laughed. "The soldiers didn't turn out quite as lovely, but I'm sure the Nome King won't complain."

_Elias and Evan_. Aaron's stomach wrenched. He was still standing next to the tree; Dorothy groaned, trying to lift her head.

"Dorothy…" Keeping his eyes on Everard, he untied the rag around her mouth.

"Aaron?" Her temple was blue and swollen. Eyes wet, he stroked her hair, whispering in her ear.

"I'm here, love. Everything's going to be okay. I'm here…" He bent to kiss her.

"Ah, ah- none of that, now. I think it might be time to join your friend, Scarecrow." Two Petra gripped Aaron's shoulders, hauling him back into the mass of stone figures. His face flushed with rage and booze, Everard continued, taking a step forward.

"I _really _don't like it when other people touch my things. That was quite rude." He sucked back another drink, spewing the alcohol out onto Aaron's face and smashing the glass at his feet.

"Now, I made a promise to my little bird, and I intend to keep it. Let's see here...Scarecrow, tin man-" His face coiled. "Where's the witch? I thought someone was missing! How can she watch Dorothy die when she's hiding inside the palace?" He tapped his finger onto his chin. "Hmm, how many Petra does it take to overcome a witch? I'd prefer her quite bloody and beaten, but not quite enough to actually kill her. What would you say, Scarecrow? Two dozen? Four dozen?"

Nick wrenched his face out of the grip of the Petra holding him. "You can't touch her! The palace is protected!" He wrestled against their hold; rocky hands blanketed his face once more, muting him.

"Oh, right; thanks for reminding me." Everard pulled a pile of ears out of his pocket and held it up. "Ozian soldiers may make dull ornaments, but they're still good for something." He held the ears between his hands, whispering something into them. Opening them, he blew; purple dust flew out toward the palace.

"How about five dozen of you, then? The witch's spell is null; go, get her! And collect some souls while you're in there! No sense wasting perfectly good energy…" Everard stooped to the ground, pouring himself another glass of scotch.

Aaron watched as sixty giant Petra crossed his path, heading for the palace. A sword was linked to each one of their sides. His heartbeat pummeling through his veins, he watched as the last soldier approached. As he passed, Aaron lifted his leg, thrusting his foot into the handle of the stone man's sword. It pulled out of its sheath with ease, swinging back and forth over the toe of his shoe. The Petra holding him simultaneously bent to seize the weapon; he crouched, pulling out from underneath them and rolling backward onto the ground. Shaking hands ripped into his shirt, pulling out the pendant and holding it high in the air.

Everard laughed. "What is _that_?"

"An army of fifty thousand men can be here in sixty seconds; let her go."

"Funny; that's exactly fifty eight seconds longer than it would take me to break her neck." A sick smile plastered across Everard's face. He stepped over to Dorothy and began untying the ropes. They dropped; she bolted for Aaron. He grabbed her arm, yanking her back against him. "Drop it."

Dorothy's face was swollen and bleeding; she bent low in Everard's arms, heaving for breath and cringing in pain.

"Aaron…"

His heart wrenched at the sight of her.

"Let her go and I'll give it to you."

"This isn't a negotiation! Drop it now or she dies!" He pulled her head up with one arm; the other braced tightly over her torso.

Aaron's chest heaved up and down, struggling to keep up with his heart. "You can't kill her," he said. "She's an Aura." He pressed the pendant; it began to flash bright green.

Everard's eyes inflated. "That was a bad choice, Scarecrow." He ripped at Dorothy's head; a sharp snap sounded and she fell to the ground, dead.

"Dorothy!" Aaron screamed; his legs gave way. The pendant rolled out into the grass, still flashing.

Everard kicked at her lifeless body. "Yep. Not an Aura." He laughed, walking back to the glass he'd left on a nearby boulder. Aaron scrambled to his feet, tripping along the ground to Dorothy's body. He fell, pulling her into his lap and grasping at her, weeping into her broken neck.

"You piece of shit! You gutless piece of shit!" Nick's eyes were crazed; he thrashed against the Petra, screaming and kicking.

Everard strolled over to Nick. "This one's getting a tad out of hand; time to put him down." He pulled off the Nome King's belt and pressed it to Nick's jerking head. "Hold still!" Retrieving another ear from his pocket, he held it against the belt.

"Incantatum Ornamentum."

"Nick!" Aaron screamed. A shining tin bowl rested in the hands of one of the Petra.

"Ooh, pretty!" Everard took the bowl and tossed it into the pile of ornaments that still rested in the grass, spilled out from the bag. He turned to Aaron.

"I have to admit, I'm feeling a little disappointed." He jutted his bottom lip outward, feigning a frown. "_Ninety years_ I've waited to kill that little bitch, and because of you I couldn't savor it! Guess I'll have to have a little fun with you and your army instead." He took a swig straight from the bottle and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Bring him here."

A Petra pulled Aaron off of the ground, lugging him over to Everard. He didn't struggle.

"Look at me!" Aaron's head continued to hang limply. Everard smiled. "You're still just a pathetic Scarecrow, aren't you?" He barked at a nearby Petra. "Get a pole and the rope." He grabbed Aaron by the hair, lifting his head. "Let's put you back to your original purpose then, shall we?"

#

White radiance enveloped Dorothy, blinding her. The pain was gone. Her spirit was bathed in a vast and unending sensation of peace.

"Dorothy." A man and woman appeared before her, smiling; they were young. Their skin was smooth and vibrant, their wrinkles gone, their hair thick and colorful. It was Emily and Henry.

Dorothy's spirit breathed out, _Henry, Emily…_ Their essences touched, holding one another in a divine embrace.

"Dorothy…" Emily's energy spoke, though her mouth didn't open. "Would you like to see your parents?"

_My parents. _She nodded, turning intuitively to her right. A man and woman stood together in the brightness; their spirits radiated love for her. They were beautiful; the man was tall and strong; the woman's eyes were a rich olive green. They embraced her; a sensation of unconditional love saturated her soul. Sensing another spirit, she turned; it was Ozma.

_Ozma. _Her heart called out to her. She looked like her statue in the Great Hall, youthful and stunning. _I've missed you so much..._

#

One hundred thousand boots clomped in unison outside of Glinda's window, pounding like thunder across the palace lawn. She stared into the mirror, her chest heaving. Trembling fingers pressed into her chest, feeling for the spot where the knife would enter. She had closed and locked her door; shattering screams ricocheted through the halls outside, streaming in through the space beneath it. She heard the sound of limestone on marble, drawing nearer. The doorknob rattled; her eyes widened. She brought the point of the knife to her chest, replacing her finger with it. Rapid, shallow breaths pulled in and out of her lungs. A giant stone body smashed into the door, splitting it open.

"Aura," She squeezed the knife with sweating palms. "My life for yours." She plunged her fists downward, driving the knife deep into her heart. Drawing in a sharp breath, she collapsed; crimson liquid seeped into the carpet.

#

Aaron hung on a pole, his arms outstretched. Dozens of black crows descended upon him, pecking at his body.

"Feel familiar, Scarecrow?" Everard laughed. The rumble of footsteps approached; he turned his gaze to the palace grounds. "Ah, the rest of my playthings have arrived!"

Tik Tok stood at the head of the army; the suns glared off of his copper body. He raised his arm; the soldiers simultaneously clomped to a defensive stance, pulling their swords out in unison and raising them high.

"At-tak!"

The warriors rushed forward, charging at the Petra. Limestone dust puffed into the atmosphere. A soldier charged at Everard; purple light exploded through the end of his weapon, sending him flying back and crashing to the ground, unconscious. Everard glared at Aaron.

"It seems we're a bit outnumbered; let's even the playing field a bit, shall we?" He reached once more into his pocket, pulling out its entire contents; fingers, tongues and ears melded in a putrefied pile on his palm. He whispered to the body parts, closing his eyes and blowing onto them; they disintegrated, morphing into purple dust and blowing out into the crowd of combatants. More than half of Aaron's soldiers stopped in their tracks; their eyes glowed a deep shade of lavender. Turning on their comrades, they began to slay them mercilessly, carving through them without consideration. Aaron lifted his head, staring desperately at Dorothy's body.

"Did you honestly believe that a human body would be enough to protect her?" Everard circled him. His voice was barely audible over the screams and din of steel in the distance. "I mean, sure, it's stronger. But straw did have its benefits, didn't it? For example, this wouldn't have hurt at all…" He lashed at the back of Aaron's knee, slicing through it with his knife. Aaron roared out a piercing cry of pain; blood trickled down his leg, soaking into the ground below.

"See what I mean?" Everard laughed, bringing his glass to his lips. "On the other hand, though, you were able to withstand the earthquake at the theater. Yes," he bowed. "No need for applause. It was I! I thought it was pretty brilliant, too, but the fire?" he howled. "That was an added bonus I hadn't anticipated! Too bad for my birds, though. They didn't even get a good taste of your insides! What happened? Did your woman have to protect you from them?" He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Weak."

Aaron kept his gaze on Dorothy.

"She's dead, Scarecrow. It's reality; drink it up." He raised the knife again. "I'll tell you what…" He began cutting at the cords that suspended Aaron on the pole. "I'm a merciful man; I'll let you look at her while I transform you. Wouldn't that be nice?" He severed the final rope, sending Aaron colliding onto the ground.

Something glistened in the crook of Aaron's eye; he turned his head. It was the broken glass. He dragged his body toward it, grasping at a jagged shard of the tumbler before Everard grabbed his ankle, pulling him back.

"Get back here! We're not done playing yet!"

Aaron crunched his torso, smashing the glass into Everard's eye; a jolt shot through him like lightning, propelling him backward.

#

Ozma stared at Dorothy's chest. She pointed.

"What is that?"

Dorothy looked down. Ozma's necklace hung around her neck. It glimmered in the blinding radiance around them. She looked up at Ozma's spirit.

_It's your Aurian symbol._

Ozma shook her head. "Pearl," She smiled softly. "It's yours."

_Pearl? _Ozma's energy wafted forward; she placed her hand on the stone. Dorothy placed her hand over Ozma's; a coil of air pulled her away, and apparitions of memories flashed before her eyes. She saw the witches of the east and west; she saw their destruction. Aaron's voice echoed through her.

_You did it. _

Her mind traveled to Ev.

_You were seven years old and you reduced a two hundred and fifty pound Evian soldier to an incompetent, drooling fool!_

She blinked; she was in the conservatory. The bird.

_She brought a mocking bird back from the dead; I saw it myself!_

The scene washed away, transporting her to the theater. She saw the archway fall; she saw the green light.

_ I didn't save that girl at the theater the other night; you did. And later, when those crows attacked us, you killed them! _She watched herself and Aaron huddled under a blanket of black crows. The necklace glowed.She did kill them.

Magnolia petals began to fall all around her. She looked up; she saw a vision of herself and Nick sitting under the tree near Ozma's grave; her face was heartbroken.

_When she talked about Ozma, every blossom on that magnolia tree fell off. It was like she was influencing it somehow through her own feelings…_

"Pearl."

Dorothy returned from her trance. Glinda stood before her; she was young again.

_Glinda?_

Glinda pointed to a man; it was Henry. He bent low, picking up a tiny child; he began walking away, carrying her to the farmhouse. It was Pearl. It was herself. The child stared back at her, reaching out her hand.

"I'm alive…I'm not dead…."

Dorothy's spirit swelled. She looked at Glinda. Ozma, her parents, and Em and Henry stood near. She whispered out to them.

_I'm alive._

#

Everard shrieked out in agony, covering his eye. He staggered to stand, running over to where Aaron laid on the ground, half conscious. A bloody hand blanketing his eye, he propelled his heel onto Aaron's face, screaming.

"You son of a bitch!" he screamed again, turning away and attempting to pull the glass from his eye socket. Dozens more Petra arrived, dumping Glinda's body onto the ground in front of him. The knife still stuck fast in her chest.

"What in the hell is this!? I told you to bring her back alive!"

"She killed herself!"

Everard let out a low snarl, spitting on her corpse.

"Coward."

Aaron's head was spinning; he looked up at Glinda's body. Straining, he lifted himself and turned his head to Dorothy. She still laid in a lifeless clump on the ground. His heart dropped. Pearl wasn't an Aura; it was all false hope. Everard took off the belt and shoved it onto his head, slamming his face down into the dirt.

"Any last words, Scarecrow?"

He closed his eyes. "Do it."

"Everard."

Aaron's heart leapt into his throat. Pearl? The belt lifted off of his face. He raised his head; Pearl Pastoria stood, alive. She spread out her arms to the mass of bloodshed behind them.

"Stop."

Every soldier froze in place, Petra and Ozians both. She stepped forward.

"Release the spirits, Everard. All of them."

Everard stammered backward, his eyes wide as the suns. Breathing shallowly, he began to fasten the belt to his waist again with trembling hands.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Dorothy. They're mine." A green blush spread out from the belt; it whipped out of his grasp, flying through the air and into her palm.

"Don't try to run away from me, Everard; I'd find you." She smiled, dropping the belt to the ground. "Release them of your own will and there may still be hope for your spirit."

Still injured on the ground, Aaron looked up and smiled, gripped by his Aurian love's newfound power.

Everard's face twitched. Tears pooled in his remaining good eye.

"Ev should have been mine. This all should have been mine..." He screamed, pummeling toward her.

"OZ."

He stopped in his tracks; a sick wave of death pulled through him. Convulsing, his spirit drew out of his body, turning it to a mass of ash and bones that fell to the ground in a slacken heap. A surge of wind raked across the land; every soul Everard had stolen stood in the physical world among the living. Dorothy's families stood in front; Glinda was with them. Dorothy walked to them.

"Glinda." Tears filled her eyes.

Glinda's spirit smiled at her. _I'm with Ozma again; I'm happy. _

She nodded, smiling back. The tears ran down her face. She turned to her sister. They raised their hands to one another; divine fingers interlocked with flesh.

"I love you." She turned to her parents and Emily and Henry. "I love you all." She stepped back, surveying the throng of spirits.

A bright green light flashed from the bag of ornaments; Nick, Evan, Elias, and the soldiers lay in a pile on the ground, restored. Nick helped Elias to rise and turned, astounded by the spectacle.

"…Dorothy?"

She turned to him; her face radiated peace.

"My name is Pearl."

He laughed, tears swelling in his eyes.

"Your Majesty." He bowed low. Every spirit, both living and dead, followed suit. The winds blew again, carrying the ghosts away to eternal life.

"Pearl…" Aaron's heart was full. She ran to him, dropping to the ground. Taking his knee in her hands, she kissed it. Green light enveloped it, healing him. She pulled him to rise. "Pearl…" he repeated, taking her face into his hands. He drew his lips to hers. A violent rumble shook the earth. In the distance, the Nome King's mountain was reduced to debris; every Petra turned to dust, sending a rolling cloud of limestone powder through the air.

Nick walked to Glinda's body, lifting it in his arms. Aaron and Pearl drew close to his side. Pearl kissed Glinda's forehead.

"Let's go home."

Chapter twenty two

Six months later, a grand royal wedding was held in OZ, and Aaron Scarecrow was crowned king for the third time.

"It's such a silly formality," Pearl held his arm as they left the crowning ceremony. "You've been my king all along."

He laughed. "I'm used to it. This wasn't the first time I've given up the throne for a member of your family!"

At the reception, Ozians from every corner of the land were there, clamoring over their new king and queen. All of the Evian royal family had come, celebrating with them. The night drew on; creatures of every kind laughed, danced, ate, and drank together, reveling in the union of the two young lovers. Husband and wife danced on a cloud, forgetting their guests.

"Aaron!" Nick called out. Rosalind was on his arm, an engagement ring on her finger. He tapped at his watch. "Are you forgetting something?"

Aaron smiled. "Pearl," he put his hand to her face. "I have a wedding present for you." He pulled her to the head of the room, kissing her softly. "Wait here; close your eyes!"

She stood with her eyes closed for several moments.

"Can I open them now?"

"Not yet!" Something shunted across the floor. "Okay; open them!"

She drew in a light gasp, covering her mouth. It was her rocking chair.

"Aaron…" She ran to it. It was the same Henry had made for her when she was a child; fully repaired, it shone like new. "How did you get it here?"

"The Nome King's belt." He smiled. "Don't just thank me; I only brought it back. Nick put it together."

"Nick…" Her eyes watered.

Nick shrugged, unable to stifle a grin. "Wood's kind of my thing."

"Thank you so much…." She pulled them both close.

"There's more; sit down…" Aaron sat her in the rocking chair, pulling another like it next to her and resting in it. Nick appeared with a glass, handing it to Pearl.

"A mint julep for the lady!"

A man appeared, holding a small instrument. Pearl's gaze inflated.

"Is that Henry's?"

"I found it in the house when I went back for the chair; _please_ tell me it's a mandolin."

She sniffed back the tears, nodding. "He can play it?"

"He'd better; he's spent the last six months learning how…"

The man perched on a stool. His fingers strummed at the mandolin; sweet notes carried out from the strings, filling the room with music. Pearl breathed, closing her eyes and savoring the sound of Henry's instrument. She turned to Aaron, placing her hand over his.

"You're unbelievable."

He smiled at her, shrugging. "I'm only a man in love."

#

That night, the newlyweds sat on the balcony of their room, rocking in their chairs and staring up at the night sky, their hands interlocked between them.

"Pearl," Aaron turned to her. "Do you remember what you asked me that night; the night of the earthquake?"

She thought back. She'd asked him to find out why the living had to die.

"Yes…"

"I know now," he nodded, looking up at the stars. "I know why living things have to die."

"…Why?"

He gently squeezed her hand, looking over at her.

"Because we live."

The End


End file.
